The Echo
by charliewo
Summary: Her vendetta was in reach now, everything was in place. Rachel only had to bring it all together, and watch it destroy the family that had cost her everything. But will her own game play her? *Inspired by the TV series Revenge.
1. Revenge

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything. **

**A/N: Flashbacks will be shown in italics throughout the story.**

* * *

It didn't begin as revenge. It began as mourning, as loss. It began as the black that cloaks funerals, as the white that purifies memorials. It began as the terrified tears that followed the bang and the shaking ground. It began as the realization that this bang affected not someone who knows someone, but _you. _

They say that good revenge is emotionless.

Revenge, good or bad, is never emotionless.

It begins from those tears, that black and white, that mourning, that realization that craves retribution. Good or bad, it is nothing but emotion.

And Rachel Berry had more emotions bottled up than anyone knew.

Growing up under the name Berry had taught her one thing: how to act. It was the closest thing to control that she had.

So when they finally released her from the juvenile mental facility, she knew she'd have to change her name.

She just didn't know a roadmap for revenge would be waiting for her.

* * *

"This carpenter-gothic cottage has four bedrooms, two bathrooms, and, as you can see, a lovely farmer's porch that wraps around to give a priceless view of the Sound. The water is a little cold this time of year, but it shouldn't be long before the summer sun works with the Gulf Stream and warms it up."

Rachel nodded, running her hands along the porch swing and smiling. The house hadn't changed a bit; the bright blue shingles and yellow shutters still remained as vibrant as the day she had left them, the floorboards still creaked underfoot. She turned to the real estate agent, who was watching her intently. "What happened to the previous owner?"

"Oh, we're not supposed to say," she said, but lowered her voice and glanced around, even though they were the only ones on the property. "A middle-aged couple owned it, but they fell into a hostile divorce, and I suppose the house became collateral damage between them."

"So no ghosts?" Rachel teased.

The woman laughed. "Only of a dead marriage."

"Do you mind if I take a look around?"

"Of course," she said, "that's what we're here for."

The brunette walked around the corner to the end of the porch and leaned against the railing. From the house's perch on a sand dune, a large range of view was accessible. To her right, the waves from Nantucket Sound crashed onto the empty, private beach. To her left, past the beach plum brambles and swaying sea grass, the dunes gave way to a clearing. The cottage that had been there years ago had been replaced by a large house, which didn't surprise Rachel much. Many homes on the Vineyard faced this modern problem of mansionization.

The large, elegant Georgian Colonial style estate sprawled across acres, giving way to a green, trimmed lawn and an in-ground pool. Attached was a Jacuzzi that spilled into it, and not far away was a large fire pit. A patch of wild bushes gave the property its privacy from the beach, and a boardwalk cut through the shrubbery as a pathway.

As Rachel glanced over the mansion's grounds, she spotted a blonde woman, reclining in a pool chair, catching the rays of an early summer. She didn't need to be closer to recognize Quinn Fabray, the only child of the Fabrays, one of the most politically powerful families in the states.

As she watched, another blonde pulled himself out of the pool. Dripping wet, he bounded over to where Quinn lounged, and shook his hair out over her. She squealed and smacked his arm lightly. He pulled her into a soaking hug.

Sam Evans. The party boy from the west coast, who had been handed almost everything he wanted in life. He was kind hearted, but utterly oblivious.

He was her competition.

The corners of Rachel's mouth twitched, turning down when the young woman's father joined the two, offering the boyfriend a beer.

Russell Fabray was just as she remembered him, except with a few flecks of grey in his hair. The man still had a stiff stance, bushy eyebrows and set jaw, as if he were tensed for an attack coming his way.

_The cameraman surveyed the scene, before focusing in on a man who stood on top of an overturned car, surrounded by a crowd of people. There were sirens wailing behind him, spinning colors against his sturdy frame. His suit jacket had been cast off, and his black pants were dusty, shirt sleeves sloppily rolled up._

"_We will be the first responders!" the man crowed, throwing his fist in the air._

_The crowd cheered._

"_We will not give into terrorists," Russell continued, raising his voice over the clamor. "We will show them that America does not cower when it is kicked down. We will show them that America stands back on its feet, brushes off the dust, and surges onward. We take care of our own!"_

_He paused as the crowd grew too loud, too full of emotion. When the noise subsided, he pointed to a building that was still spewing ashes. "Now, good people of America, let's give a hand to the brave firemen and policemen. Let us be the first responders, in the most literal sense. Let us charge into that burning building, bravely and fiercely, and help out those unfortunate enough to have been in the wrong place at the wrong time."_

_He leapt down from the car, and led his followers to the emergency vehicles at the building's entrance. The cameraman panned over the scene, and pulled back to angle the camera upwards. Smoke billowed out from the top floors, debris falling like black rain._

"I see you've caught sight of the Fabrays," the real estate agent said, pulling the brunette from her memory.

Rachel feigned surprise. "You mean those are _the _Fabrays?"

"The ones and only," she said. "Imagine them for neighbors, huh?"

"Imagine that," Rachel drawled.

"So, about the house…"

"I'll take it. Full price."

The woman's eyes widened as she grinned. "Oh, wow. Wonderful. I'll pull together the forms." She turned, heels sounding off the old porch wood. "Now, if you wouldn't mind following me into the kitchen, Ms. Corcoran."

* * *

Rachel surveyed the living room from the doorway; the few boxes she brought were piled by the staircase. The cottage was already furnished, rooms painted with pastels and matching cushions on white furniture. It was a typical Cape Cod-themed home, with beach décor tying it all together, but Rachel didn't mind. The colors were calming, for the most part. She had other priorities in mind, anyway.

She opened one of the boxes, pulling out a small wooden chest. Tracing over the carving on it, she walked a few steps into the living room, placing her weight carefully on each foot. She strained her ears for a light creak that would alert her to a secret cubby, and smiled softly when she heard it, throwing over the rug to reveal it.

Hooking her finger into a small indent in the wood, she pulled up and removed a chunk of the floorboard, peering into the manmade hole.

"_What're you going to hide in it, princess?" Hiram asked, watching his daughter run to the cubby from the stairs._

_She skidded to a halt before it, clutching a number of items. "Just the important things, Daddy."_

"_Am I allowed to know?" He put his mug on the table, and tried to peek at what she held._

_Rachel giggled. "No! It's top secret, need-to-know." She gazed up at him, narrowing her eyes. Hiram guessed she was trying to be intimidating, but she wasn't succeeding in her bright pink pajamas and bunny slippers. He suppressed a smile as she continued, "If I told you, I'd have to kill you."_

_He threw his hands in the air, surrendering. "Okay, okay. Need to know. I got it, princess."_

"_Good." She grinned at him, and bent down to begin placing items into it._

_ "Just remember, it's a secret hiding place, so be careful who you tell about it."_

_ "Yes, Daddy. I know."_

Though the items were dusty, they were still there. The toy microphone from her fifth birthday, the piggy bank that held three dollars in change, a drawing of her family at the beach, and, of course, the signed photograph of Barbara Streisand.

Rachel shook her head in amusement. When her fathers had shown her _Funny Girl _for her fourth birthday, she had refused to go by anything other than Barbara or Babs, wanting to live up to the full legend. Luckily for her, it was her middle name, so it wasn't a completely ridiculous demand. It wasn't difficult to get her Vineyard neighbors to call her by that name, as they hadn't known her when she was Rachel. But when she returned to school in the fall, she was even able to convince her teachers and classmates in New York to address her as Barbara.

It made it easy for her to change her name when she left the facility. She began to go by Rachel again, and adopted her biological mother's maiden name for her last.

She fingered the photo, blowing off dust, before placing it down beside the rest of the items. Rachel picked up the wooden box beside her and placed it into the cubby, sighing in relief when it fit.

A knock on the door startled her, and she quickly shut the trapdoor and smoothed the rug back over it, throwing the piggy bank, microphone, and papers into a cardboard box sitting nearby.

She skipped into the main hall, and saw a familiar brunette through the thin white curtains that covered the glass door. Slowing down as she neared the entryway, she exhaled, before flashing a smile as she let the fiery Latina in.

Santana grinned at her, holding up two champagne glasses and a bottle. "Hey, _chica_, I heard you bought this little place."

Rachel stepped aside to let her into the kitchen, shutting the door behind them. "Yeah, who told you?"

"Oh, it's Martha's Vineyard. Can't hide anything on this damn island." She looked up and handed Rachel a bubbly glass. "Cheers."

"Thanks," she said, taking a sip. "How is the job so far?"

Santana threw her a pained look. "Please. Three weeks in, and I already want to kill the woman with my bare hands. I'm having dreams about it, you know. Sometimes she chokes on her own insults. Sometimes she's run over by a motorboat and caught up in its propellers, and other times she's tied to a lighthouse beacon and everyone forgets she was put up there."

Rachel laughed. "She cannot be _that_ bad, Santana."

"Wait until you meet her. You'll see."

"You hate everyone."

Santana shook her head, holding up a finger. "No, not true. Remember that guy from the equestrian event we fundraised at? Over spring, at Saratoga?"

"That really narrows it down, San," Rachel commented, quirking an eyebrow.

"Um, the one that landed a viral video on youtube that weekend."

"Oh, the guy whose horse bucked?"

"Yes!" Santana said, leaning back against the kitchen counter. "Him. I liked him."

Rachel chuckled. "He landed face-first into a pile of horse shit."

"Exactly," she said. "He was hilarious."

Rachel shook her head. "You're ridiculous, you know that?"

"Yeah, but that's why I'm your best friend. You'd die of normalcy without me." Santana smirked, moving to lean towards Rachel. "Speaking of how much you love me…"

"No," Rachel said, groaning. "I already told you, you're not my type!"

"No, not that." Santana frowned. "And for the last time, I don't swing that way."

"Right," Rachel deadpanned.

"Ignoring that," she said, rolling her eyes. "Look, there's an event I've been planning for Judy since I started, and it's this weekend. It's some kick-off-the-summer bash and I don't want to go alone. There's going to be all these snobby, boring people getting drunk and wondering why the hell they're not home in their hermit caves of mansions."

"You're really selling this party, you know," Rachel said.

"Whatever. Say you'll come. Please?"

"Why would I come when you just said—"

"Rach," Santana said. "Please. You'll get to know the people here more. Plus the Fabrays and Evans will be here. Even Sam's cousin, Brittany, is stopping by from what I've heard. She RSVP'd, anyway."

"Fine, fine!" Rachel said, pushing at Santana when the Latina attacked her in a tight bear hug.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"You better introduce me to the dragon lady that's made your life hell, though. I've got to meet my new neighbor, after all."

Santana pulled back, shrugging. "Your death wish, Corcoran."

* * *

Rachel tugged the white beach robe around her tighter, letting the wind wrap its hem around her calves. The sun had dipped behind some clouds, and the breeze had grown stronger. She suspected a storm was on the way, as the air had shifted and the temperature dropped a few degrees.

Her feet sunk into the wet sand, waves lapping at her toes. Further out, there were large white caps of waves cresting over. The real estate agent hadn't been wrong when she said the waters were still a little cold, and the grey color reflected it.

A dog bark alerted her to a fellow beach-goer. She furrowed her brow when she saw a large German Shepherd galloping towards her, leash trailing behind him as he kicked up sand in his hurry to reach her. She turned to face him as he neared, and he skidded to a halt five feet away, dropping to a crouch as his body shook with a wagging tail. He was whining, and took a few steps closer before sitting back on his haunches, extending a paw to her as if to wave.

"Hey, buddy," she whispered, dropping to one knee.

The dog's ears perked up at the utterance, and he jumped up, paws hitting her shoulders and knocking her over into the sand. She threw her arms around him, giggling as he licked her face.

"_Arnstein! _No!Bad dog!" A voice called from a distance. Rachel lifted her head, and saw a figure scrambling to catch up to the dog.

It couldn't be the same dog, could it? It was probably just a coincidence. She glanced back at the dog, who was staring at her. He seemed to have the same big, brown eyes and even had white fur growing in, especially around the muzzle.

Rachel managed to slip out from under him, and scratched him behind the ears as the owner reached them, panting as much as the dog; both the shepherd and brunette took in the blonde before them.

_Hazel eyes shone with excitement as the little girl scampered across the beach. "Babs! Look!"_

_The little brunette glanced up from her bucket to see what her friend found._

"_Look, look at it!"_

_Her brow furrowed in confusion. In the blonde's palm there were a few small shells, a shade of light yellow. "Shells?" She laughed. "Quinn, those are everywhere!"_

_The blonde frowned. "No, these are special. Momma told me they're mermaid's toenails."_

_She peered at the shells again, tiny, thin circles. They could belong to a mystical creature, it wasn't a stretch. "But wait, mermaids don't have feet!"_

_Quinn gasped. "Maybe they're tail scales, then!"_

_The brunette laughed, shoving her friend playfully._

"I'm so sorry," the woman wheezed, interrupting her thoughts. "He just took off, I don't know what got into him. He's not usually this friendly."

Rachel smiled. "Oh, it's no problem. I love dogs. Arnstein is his name, I take it?"

"Yeah, although he doesn't seem to recognize it, today," the blonde chuckled.

Rachel laughed. "It's an unusual dog name."

"I know, right?" she said. "I didn't name him."

"Oh, was he from a shelter?"

"No, no. There was this girl that lived next door, and she had to move away or something, couldn't take the puppy with her. So she gave ole Arnie to me." She paused. "That was about, thirteen years ago, I think."

Rachel nodded, and stood, extending a hand. "Well, I'm Rachel Corcoran." She gestured to the cottage behind them. "I just moved there."

The blonde shook it, smiling softly. "That's where the girl used to live."

"Oh, wow."

"I'm Quinn, by the way," the woman continued, "your new neighbor, in the big, oversized mansion."

"It's not that big," Rachel teased. "I mean, you can't quite see it from space."

Quinn snorted, picking up Arnie's leash. "Oh, I wouldn't doubt it if you could. But, you know, parents. They always have to beat everyone out, whether it's the size of your bank account, house, or the success of your kids."

Rachel shrugged. "I wouldn't know, mine died in an accident years ago."

"Shit," Quinn said, frowning. "I'm so sorry, Rachel, I had no idea."

"No, no," Rachel said, reaching out to give the blonde a reassuring squeeze on the arm. "It was a while ago. I've moved past it."

Quinn sighed, shaking her head. "Well, I better go before I can say something worse and completely blow a first impression." She smiled at Rachel, giving her a little wave as she walked away. "Hope to see you around more."

Rachel nodded, watching her go back in the direction she came. She returned her gaze to the sea, and cast off her robe. It fluttered to the ground behind her as she ran a few paces into the churning water before diving into it. The cold numbed her a little, and she resurfaced after a moment, swimming furiously into the growing waves.

As she turned her head to the side for a breath, she caught sight of the blonde, standing on the shore watching her curiously. Rachel smirked, dipping her head back into the water as she swam further into the surf.

Maybe the woman wouldn't be as hard to get as she had imagined.

The vendetta was in reach now, everything was in place. She only had to bring it all together, and watch it destroy the family that had cost her everything.

After all, it wasn't over until the bang echoed.


	2. Trust

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything.**

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews! I did want to address one thing though: a lot of people were really excited because they're fans of revenge, and I just wanted to clarify that it's really, really loosely inspired by the TV series that it's basically AU. Just getting this out there early so I don't disappoint anyone. :p**

* * *

_Trust_

It's one of the first things we learn, right next to communication. We take it in our hands and feel its weight, its fragile state. We learn how to earn it or break it, gain it or lose it. We can build onto it, adding a foundation to the thin framework and carefully constructing thick walls, steady beams, and a strong roof for stability and shelter—but no matter what we do, no matter how careful we are, the shockwaves will always come.

Sooner or later it'll collapse, and the walls and beams and roof might not withstand the blast; the remnants of a crumbled foundation will be all that remains. You can decide to take rubble and try to reestablish what was there before, but it will be different, in the little ways. It always is.

Or, you can do what hurts less. Leave the debris behind you, brush off the dust. Walk away. It doesn't matter whether or not you look back. The dust will clear, either way.

Trust. It can lift you up to new heights and throw you back down in a fraction of a second.

And like Rome, trust can't built in a day.

* * *

"_That's_ what you're wearing?" Santana asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Rachel glanced down at herself. "What's wrong with this?"

"Well, for starters, everything." The Latina sighed. "Don't get me wrong, I think you look hot, but it's not the dress code for this kind of event. Women will be wearing long gown-like summer dresses and men will be in khakis with collared shirts, despite the heat."

Rachel paused. "So, no shorts?"

"No shorts." Santana tucked the clipboard under her arm, walking up the stairs.

"What are you doing?" Rachel protested, trotting behind her.

"Finding something for you to wear," she responded, digging through the brunette's closet. She threw a couple hangers to the ground before stepping back with a long blue dress and short, grey half-sleeved blazer. "There. That."

She fixed her attention back on the clipboard, checking off a few boxes and making notes in the margin.

"So what exactly does your job entail?" Rachel asked, shimming out of her shorts.

Santana hummed, tapping a pen against her lips. "Well, party and event planning, for one thing. Managing the staff, decorating, arranging seating, sending out invitations—that sort of thing. And then pretty much anything Mrs. Fabray wants becomes my responsibility as well. It's like being an intern all over again, but more terrifying. I'm telling you, the woman is an escaped demon from Hell. Why are you so keen on meeting her?"

Rachel shrugged, pulling her hair out from under the fabric. She spun in front of the mirror, scrutinizing the outfit. It wasn't half-bad, she'd have to admit, though it was missing something.

"Add a hat or a belt," Santana piped up.

"Yes! Perfect," Rachel said, picking out a grey fedora with a yellow flower pinned to its black ribbon. "And I want to meet Mrs. Fabray because we'll be living next door to each other for the whole summer. Like you said, I need to make friends on the tiny island. If I upset the most powerful person in town by avoiding her, who's going to go against her and talk to me?"

Santana rolled her eyes at the pout sent her way. "You're so overdramatic. Come on, we're going to be late."

* * *

"Not bad, Santana," Rachel said, surveying the lawn party. "I mean, it's nothing like the parties you used to plan after fundraising events, but I like it. It's classy."

The Latina laughed, recalling the booze-hazed afterparties she used to throw together to thank the volunteers. Unlike those nights, there wasn't a single red solo cup in sight, nor a stack of boxed pizzas. There was a fire pit, though it wouldn't be in use until later that evening. There definitely wouldn't be gooey marshmallows smashed between a layer of chocolate and graham cracker, either.

Classy people just didn't know what they were missing.

Instead, the lawn mimicked the fifties' mentality, with a white picket fence surrounding the yard. Yellow ribbons hung from each post. The yard was separated into two areas; one side was for dancing—a wooden platform had been hauled in to serve as a stage for the "local" band, who had been flown in from New York. The other section was littered with white picnic tables, each shaded by a yellow umbrella overhead. There were little kids running around with tri-colored beach balls while their parents mingled over pisco sours and sunset sangrias.

It was the essence of summer. Rachel had to admit, Santana had nailed it.

"Alright, I have to go find the monster before she unleashes her fury on the town," the Latina said, moving toward the Fabray mansion. She paused, turning to narrow her eyes at Rachel in warning. "_Do not_ mess up anything or bother anyone, okay? It's my ass on the line."

Rachel chuckled. "Yes, yes. Go already, I promise I'll be good!"

With a flourish of sudden elegance that the brunette could only admire, Santana disappeared in the crowd, fully composed. Rachel shook her head, amused, and made her way to the open bar by the pool.

She tapped the counter as she looked up at the drink menu, trying to decide which would have the least alcohol. Opting for a virgin daiquiri, Rachel took the strawberry drink and walked over to the middle of the lawn and into the tent by the band, intermixing with the guests.

The brunette surveyed the scene, searching for familiar faces. It didn't take long to find Sam, Quinn's boyfriend. His bottle blonde hair stood out even in a crowd this large. He was joking around with what Rachel assumed were college friends, maybe frat mates. As she watched, she noticed another blonde head bobbing above the crowd near him.

Had Quinn been that tall? Rachel could have sworn that the Fabray daughter had only a few inches on her, but this person had at least ten, if not a foot. The woman could be wearing heels, but even without them, she'd be taller than Rachel by at least five inches, still too high to be Quinn.

Rachel slipped through the crowd, inching closer. As the view became clearer, she realized the woman had much longer hair as well. She was wearing heels, but that didn't matter—as Rachel stepped away from the crowd to investigate further, Sam clapped his hand on the blonde's shoulder, causing her to turn and face him. The brunette's eyes widened as sky blue eyes wandered over Sam's shoulder to latch onto her. The tall blonde's brows knitted together, and she excused herself from the group of guys. Rachel quickly darted back into the crowd, and before the woman could follow her, Mr. Fabray's voice carried over the lawn, calling attention to the stage.

Rachel glanced to her left, seeing the Fabrays gathered on stage.

"_I'd like to thank my family for their everlasting support through this campaign. I owe them my gratitude, as well as my talented team of volunteers and staff members. I wouldn't have gotten the chance without your work. And, of course, the American people. You all were given a choice, and I want to thank you for making the right one and electing me as your next senator," Russell spoke, pounding his fist into the podium to garner emotion from the crowd._

_Judy took his hand in hers, waving at the crowd and sharing the spotlight with her husband. Behind them, a little ways, was Quinn. Her smile was noticeable, even at such a distance._

_Flags and campaign posters were brandished in acknowledgement of not only a win, but a true, modern day American victory, for the people had chosen a man who had guaranteed he would clamp down on extremists. Rachel drew her coat tighter against her, ignorant of the crowd jostling against her._

_They didn't know any better. But she did._

"You still want to meet the she-devil?" Santana said, causing the brunette to jump.

"Who?"

San looked at her funny. "Mrs. Fabray?"

"Oh, right," Rachel said, clearing her throat.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine. Where is she?"

"She's still at her husband's side on stage, but they'll be down soon. They're giving the annual enjoy-the-summer-bash-but-please-donate-to-these-c harities speech." The pair walked closer to the stage, and the Latina clicked her tongue. "It's revolting, you know?"

"The summer bash or charity giving?" Rachel asked.

"The charities," Santana clarified. "I mean, you and I aren't strangers to helping people out. We went out to fundraise, and it was rough stuff. Rich people stay rich by holding onto their money, after all. But the worst part isn't that they don't _want_ to help, it's the charities themselves."

Rachel frowned. "What do you mean?"

Santana glanced around them, dropping her voice. "Look, you can't repeat this to anyone, okay? The dragon lady handed me a list of their charities to have on file, to separate donations into—"

"Wait, isn't that illegal? You can't lie to people about where their money is going."

"Listen. They're not lying, the money really will go to Africa, the homeless, or wherever else they're pledging. That's not the point. These charities are all anti-gay."

"S, come on," Rachel said, tilting her head. "How do you even know that?"

"I've run into them before," she replied. "I've worked in the charity and fundraising arena for a while, and it was part of my job to _know_ other sponsors and charities. The ones the Fabrays are advocating are all homophobic. For example, they send money over to Uganda. Some of it will help with supplies of medicine or food, sure, but part of it is also supporting anti-gay rhetoric from leaders in the community."

"It's like some sick kind of cultural war," Rachel muttered. She opened her mouth for another question but noticed Santana standing up straighter, and turned to find Mrs. Fabray stepping off stage.

The woman, spotting Santana, moved towards them. "Miss Lopez, everything is still in order? No complications?"

The Latina forced a smile. "Yes, ma'am. The charity workers are mingling with the crowd, handing out flyers for pledges."

"Good," she said, and glanced at the brunette. "Who is this?"

"Oh, this is Rachel Corcoran," Santana said. "I know that she isn't on the guest list, but she did just move into the house next door."

Judy's lips twitched. "The old Berry house?"

Santana frowned. "Uhm, I'm not sure. But I assure you, she's an old friend of mine. We met while fundraising on the road."

"Oh, how nice."

"Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Fabray," Rachel said, offering a hand to shake. The older woman took it, hesitantly. She tightened her grasp, peering at the brunette over her eyeglasses. Rachel shifted, wondering if the woman knew what she was searching for. Ignoring the sudden adrenaline rush, she smiled at the woman. "I'm looking forward to my first summer here. Everyone has told me it's the place to be."

Judy nodded slowly and released the handshake. "I'm glad this small island is getting some good reputation, nowadays. It's been awhile since… well, never mind. Feel free to stick around and enjoy the party." She pressed her lips together in a smile. "We'll see you around, I'm sure."

With a last curt nod, the woman turned from them, edging her way into the crowd to talk with guests.

"_Dad said you were gonna help us!" the little brunette said, opening the door enthusiastically. "Daddy's in his room, sleeping, just like he's supposed to be."_

"_Hello, Babs." Judy nodded at the little girl, moving to the kitchen. _

_She grinned up at Judy, and spotted the bowl. "Is that soup? Oh, Daddy will be so happy." She latched onto the woman's leg, hugging it. "Thank you so, so much, Mrs. Fabray."_

"_It's nothing, dear." Judy glanced at her watch, nervously. She wrung her hands as the little girl scampered off to play with toys. She murmured, "Oh, you better be right about this, Russell."_

_Seconds later, the phone rang and she jumped. Barbara watched from the living room floor as her face fell, conflicted._

"That went well."

Rachel faced Santana, raising an eyebrow. "_That's _what you call well? That was the coldest conversation I've had. Look, I have goose bumps."

"Hey, at least you're not crying. Usually when people first meet her, they cry."

"She _makes_ people cry?"

"Almost all the time. I think it's a hobby of hers," Santana said, glancing at her clipboard list. "Well, I have to go again. Gotta look busy, or else the witch will burn _me_ at the stake. I'll catch up with you later, though, okay?"

"All right," Rachel said, watching her weave through the running children and drunken adults. She glanced back up at the stage, looking for a certain blonde.

Not seeing her in sight, the brunette placed her empty glass on a nearby table, and headed towards the boardwalk to escape to the beach. No one else had spilled over from the lawn, so she slipped off her sandals and sat down in the sand, closing her eyes as she let the sound of waves crash over her senses.

The rhythm calmed the erratic beating of her heart, left over from the fight or flight instinct that Judy's introduction had caused. Had the woman recognized her? She did remember the Berrys, that much was clear. But how well?

"Hey, it's you again."

Rachel opened her eyes and glanced in the direction of the voice. Quinn Fabray was walking towards her, her long green gown looking out of place on the beach. There was a grace and beauty that she hadn't fully noticed before in the blonde, and she attributed it to the mix of a breeze, make-up, and designer clothes. She let her eyes trail down the woman's figure. Quinn was a gorgeous woman. She had known that, everyone knew that. Rachel shoved the thought out of her mind, choosing not to analyze it.

The hemline on the blonde's gown was already sandy, and Rachel briefly wondered how long she had been pacing along the shore. It was no wonder she had missed her at the party.

The brunette smiled as Quinn sat down next to her. "Where's Arnstein?"

"Oh, locked in some room until the summer bash is over," the blonde said, sighing. "Mom's orders, not mine."

Rachel nodded, looking back out over the ocean. "I was looking for you at the party."

"You went to the party?"

"Yeah," Rachel said. "I figured it would be a good way to get to know my fellow townspeople."

Quinn laughed. "Oh, I wouldn't call them townspeople. _Summer people_ is more like it. Guest is what I use, personally."

"And what would you call yourself?" Rachel said, eyes flicking back to meet her gaze.

The blonde seemed surprised. "I-I'd say I'm a summer resident. I've been coming here each year since I was about three."

Rachel smirked, leaning in to tease her. "So you're more than a guest, but still not a full-time townie?"

"Exactly," Quinn said. Rachel noticed her gaze falling down to her lips, and furrowed her brow. Quinn caught herself staring and leaned back, changing the subject quickly. "So how'd you like the summer kick-off?"

Rachel hummed, biting her lip. "Honestly?"

The blonde laughed. "Spare me no lies."

"Well, it was a bit over the top, materialistic. I mean, it was thoughtfully decorated and the band is good—"

"But it's too much, right?"

Rachel chuckled. "A little, yeah."

"Don't worry, I won't tell my mother you said so. I actually agree with you."

"Is that why you're out here, enjoying a long walk on the beach?" Rachel asked, and nudged their shoulders playfully. "Or are you trying to find another romantic in this mess of arrogant elitists?"

Quinn blushed. "I just needed some air, actually."

"You know the party was outside, right?" The brunette tilted her head, smirking. "Plenty of fresh air to go around."

"Yeah, I know." The blonde huffed. "I just meant…space."

"And what might _the_ Quinn Fabray need space from?"

The blonde hesitated, searching Rachel's eyes before opening her mouth to reply.

"Quinn! Hey, Quinn," Sam said, standing at the edge of the boardwalk. "There you are! I've been looking all over for you."

Rachel groaned inwardly at the interruption, willing the loud, goofy blonde to amble back to his buddies and beer.

"Oh, sorry Sam," the blonde said, glancing over her shoulder. "Give me a second, and I'll be right over, all right?"

"Sure, Q-pie," he said, giving them a big grin before heading back to the lawn.

Quinn reluctantly stood, brushing off sand, before turning to Rachel. "Well, I better go."

Rachel nodded, allowing the blonde to help her up. "Can't have your guests missing out on your presence, can we?"

"I guess not," Quinn said, chuckling. "I'll see you around, yeah?"

"I hope so," Rachel replied, pausing. "And hey, Q?"

The blonde looked back. "Yes?"

"I'm right next door, if you ever need space again."

"Thanks, Rach." Quinn smiled, and stepped onto the boardwalk to find her boyfriend.

The brunette smiled to herself, starting back along the beach to her cottage. Quinn was charming, that much was true. But she had to keep her goals in mind, and that would help keep her in line.

After all, it didn't matter who ended up as collateral damage, did it? Everyone had played a part in her fathers' downfalls, just at varying degrees.

So, yes, Quinn was charming. Yes, Quinn was gorgeous. Yes, Quinn was endearing.

But no, she was not going to let this get any more personal than it had to be. She would not let the blonde get to her.

She would think of her fathers.

As she rounded the corner, resolute in her decision, she found herself slammed against the wall of her house. A steady, lithe forearm pressed into her throat, effectively lessening her air-intake and caused her vision to go spotty with lightheadedness. Rachel gasped, clutching at the arm, thoughts racing through her head.

A leg pinned her further against the wall, ridding her of any possible escape.

Had Judy recognized her? Was this some kind of body guard, some agent or assassin they kept lying around for these specific purposes? Had they been waiting for her return, all these years?

The killer leaned closer. Rachel could feel her breath ghost across her cheeks. She weakly clawed at the arm keeping her in place, knowing it wouldn't do any good.

"What the hell are you doing here?" hissed the agent-slash-assassin.

Rachel's eyes widened, allowing her to catch a glimpse of firm blue eyes and long blonde hair. "Brittany?"


	3. Senseless

**A/N: I do not own anything. Thanks for the reviews & favorites & stuff!**

_Senseless_

The dictionary defines senseless in many ways.

It can mean foolish or meaningless, lacking sense, like your roommate's obsession with Reality TV.

Senseless also refers to deprived sensation, the feeling of no feeling. A state of numbness. It's when touch and taste no longer bring comfort, sight and hearing no longer provide validity, and smell becomes useless (as if it had ever been important before). Even the mysterious sixth sense doesn't tingle.

But there is another definition, in which the subject is said to lack any and all mental perception, appreciation, and/or comprehension.

Psychologists view this as sociopathic behavior. Others recognize it as witless. And the select few call it smart.

After all, why have sense just to perceive and comprehend the entanglement of emotions that confront you on a daily basis?

That, in itself, is senseless.

* * *

"Brittany?" Rachel gasped, furrowing her brow.

"I asked you what you were doing here," Brittany replied calmly. But when Rachel gurgled, the blonde's grip on her throat loosened for a moment, and the brunette didn't hesitate to yank it away and duck under the next predicted left hook, whirling around to slam the tall blonde against the wall.

Brittany's eyes widened and Rachel pinned her shoulders down, limiting any movement. "I could ask you the same thing," she said, panting. "Are you following me or something?"

"Whoa," the tall blonde said, "let me go. I was just playing around."

Rachel narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing the woman before her. It was likely that she was being honest—she'd never known Brittany to be aggressive in any way—but what if it was a trick? What if she let her guard down only to be caught in another air-restricting hold?

Brittany reached up, putting her hand on Rachel's arm lightly. "Little Berry?"

"You can't call me that," the brunette snapped, and released Brittany. She stormed past her, up the steps to her cottage.

The woman's long legs allowed her to follow with ease, to Rachel's frustration.

"Hey, I'm sorry Babs, okay?"

The brunette closed the door behind them and crossed her arms. "Don't use that name, either."

Brittany tilted her head, puzzled. "But that's your name, isn't it? You're Barbara Berry. At least, I'm pretty sure. You recognized the name, so that must mean something, right?"

Rachel took a few quick steps toward her, shushing. "Yes, yes. You haven't mistaken me. But why are you here?"

"Well, my cousin is here. Sam. He's kind of like my long lost twin brother. Except we're already family, so it's more like one of us got lost on the reincarnation train and came out the wrong hole."

The brunette's jaw moved, words delayed. "Wait, you're related to Sam Evans?"

"Yup, he's the one. Do you know him?"

"I met his girlfriend," Rachel said, worrying her lip. How had she not known their familial ties? She'd researched every bit of each person she would meet, even if by chance.

"Oh, Quinn! She's great. They're adorable together, don't you think?"

Rachel nodded absentmindedly, still trying to figure out how she had missed a key part of family dynamics. She hadn't planned on including Sam in her vendetta, but there was no doubt he might become collateral damage. Her fathers had trusted and loved Brittany, so did that mean she had to rethink parts of her mission? There was no time. And it wasn't likely she would be affected directly.

"Anyway, I just came over to catch up. You elbowed your way through a crowd to get away from me, and I wanted to make sure you were alright. Are you avoiding me or something?"

"No, I'm sorry," Rachel said. "You just caught me off guard."

_The sound of popping gravel alerted her to the car slowing beside her. She stiffened, tightening her grip on the bag slung around her shoulder. The shiv she had fashioned during her stay was in the side pocket, easily accessible._

_She squinted at the windows, trying to recognize a shape, figure, anything. But it was no use. The windows were heavily tinted. It figured, she thought. She wasn't even an hour out of the facility and there were already people hunting her down._

_The car came to a halt, a door opening and closing quickly. She spun around to confront her aggressor and found herself face-to-face with a tall, lithe blonde who was staring at her with the kind of eyes that can see more than what's visible._

"_You're the Berrys' daughter, right?"_

_Rachel gave her a curt nod. "What do you want?"_

"_I knew your fathers very well. Before Hiram was, well… He wanted me to give you this." The woman withdrew a small wooden box from the trunk. She outstretched her arms, waiting for the brunette to take it._

_On the top were three intertwined infinity signs._

_Rachel stepped closer, running her hand along the marking. She took the box from the woman and looked at her expectantly._

_The tall blonde smiled at her. "There's a note in it that you should read. It'll explain everything. My number is in there too, don't hesitate to use it, okay?"_

_The woman opened the door to the car, swinging one leg in. _

"_Wait!" the brunette called out. "Who are you?"_

"_Brittany Pierce." She paused. "Need a ride?"_

Brittany smiled. "Yeah, I bet you never thought you'd see me again, huh, Little Berry?"

The brunette pinched her nose, sighing. "Look, you can't go around calling me that. I'm going by Rachel Corcoran now."

"But, the only reason you'd go by that is if…" Brittany trailed off, eyebrows knitted together in concern.

The brunette avoided her gaze, moving to the kitchen to grab two glasses. She took out a pitcher and poured water into them. When Brittany made no move to take the offered cup, she sighed, sliding it across the counter. "It's what you think."

"I don't understand," she said, frowning. "Last time we talked, we were on the same page. You were going to set it all behind you."

Rachel snorted. "Give me a break, Brittany. I was just getting out of a juvenile mental facility, which had essentially _driven_ me mad. I didn't know where I was going, never mind how I wanted to handle my fathers' set-ups."

"You seemed sane to me," Brittany said, gaze unwavering.

It was the same piercing look from all those years ago. "Don't act like you understand."

"It's not what Hiram wanted!"

"The hell do you know about what my father wanted, anyway?"

"We were close," the tall blonde said firmly. "Your fathers were the only ones who stood by my side when I pursued dancing. Everyone knew I was good at numbers; I graduated MIT as a teenager and had a successful company running a year later. But the dancing? I wouldn't be _me _without your fathers."

Rachel huffed, but she was silenced with a warning glance as the tall blonde continued. "So, no, I was not their daughter. But I was with Hiram through all the accusations, the trial, and the verdict." She stood. "I promised your father I would look out for you. Said I'd try to get you to choose peace, but stand by your side if you couldn't.

"So tell me, _Rachel Corcoran_, what's the plan?"

The brunette gnawed the inside of her cheek, searching the blonde's face for signs of deceit, mockery. Upon finding only sincerity, she sighed, taking the glasses from the counter and put them in the sink, looking out the window.

"Fine. You're in." Rachel turned to face a grinning, bouncing blonde. "We'll talk over lunch tomorrow. And if you screw this up—"

"I won't!" Brittany said, before smothering her in a tight hug. Rachel squeezed her eyes shut, wondering what exactly she had just unleashed onto her stable, perfectly planned vendetta.

* * *

"_I asked you to draw something else,"_ _the psychiatrist said, standing over the little brunette._

_Babs looked up from her picture, clenching the crayon in her grip. She narrowed her eyes at the redhead looming over her. "Take me to see my father and I'll draw anything you want."_

_The woman examined the sketch of a house by the sea with two men and a little girl. She didn't understand why the child couldn't grasp that her fathers were terrorists, people you beg to be put away, not to visit and play with. "No, Barbara. Then we'd both know you were just pretending. Like your fathers were pretending to be good; look what happened to them."_

"_Dad died in an explosion," the brunette gritted out, "and Daddy was taken away. They got him."_

"_There is no _they_!" the therapist shouted, storming away._

"_I want my Daddy!" the child screamed after her, and when the woman didn't return, she shrieked, throwing all the papers and crayons onto the floor._

"Where were you, just now?"

Rachel lifted her chin off her hand, and shrugged. "I met someone."

"Tell me about this person," Dr. Pillsbury prompted, looking up from the clipboard. "Have you known them long?"

Rachel put on a dreamy smile, letting her gaze wander. "No, I met her last week, on the beach. I had just moved into the cottage, and went out for my daily swim. The dog reached me first. She followed. It sounds just like a fairytale, doesn't it?"

She watched as the therapist hummed, making a few notes. "Fairytale?"

"Oh, you know, the fated moment where the two protagonists meet, and it's love at first sight." The brunette feigned a lovesick expression, batting her eyes.

It worked like a charm. Dr. Pillsbury frowned, peering over her glasses at her client. "Rachel, you've said that about everyone you've met. There was a man named…" She flipped through the file. "Jesse St. James. You thought he was the one because you started singing the same song in an elevator by accident. And there was Ka-"

"I know what I've said," Rachel interrupted sharply, letting her leg bounce. "But this time is different."

"Why?"

"Because it's real," the brunette breathed. "Don't you believe me?"

Dr. Pillsbury sighed. "I believe that it's what you want to believe."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The redhead paused, fixing the hem of her dress. She met Rachel's gaze evenly. "It means that you need to stop letting _destiny _drive your life. You've put yourself in the passenger seat, thinking fate will bring someone along to take the wheel. Take control!"

The brunette sniffed. "What's so wrong with wanting someone?"

"There's nothing wrong with wanting someone," the therapist said. "But you have gone beyond wanting. It's become obsessive. You read so far between the lines that your interpretation no longer resembles its context."

Rachel let her lower lip tremble. "I don't want to be alone."

Dr. Pillsbury clucked her tongue, gesturing at the tissue box next to the brunette. "There, there. No one said you had to be, but-" The timer pinged, signaling the end of a session. Rachel looked up from dabbing her eyes to see the therapist reach for a tape recorder.

The woman gave her a strained smile. "How about we pick up here next week, okay? You're making great progress."

"I feel like I am," Rachel said, standing to give the therapist a hug. "Every time I leave here, I feel more and more determined to take control."

"Wonderful," Dr. Pillsbury said, pulling back. "I'm glad to hear that."

The brunette nodded and left the room, stopping just behind the door. She held it open a crack and pressed her ear to it.

"It has been a year since Ms. Corcoran's first session and she has made almost no progress. I fear she will never push past the trauma of her parents' death in the car accident. It has left a void in her past and she is unable to live in the present, only senselessly dreaming about a future with someone. She may forever spend her life looking to replace the holes her parents' absence has created."

Rachel rolled her eyes and let the door shut behind her. Therapy used to hold validation to her, but now, having the ability to hear the therapist's side of sessions, it seemed trite. Who could really solve the human puzzle? And who was to say that their patients were honest all the time? Rachel's persona wasn't; it was a string of true events with slight variations and very false, very overdramatic reactions.

She smirked as she replayed Dr. Pillsbury's assessment over in her head. Senseless her ass. But she had to stay in the weekly sessions somehow, right?

* * *

Brittany was already at the table when she got there.

"Hey, R," Brittany said, smiling at her. "Isn't this place the best?"

Rachel nodded, slightly regretting letting the tall blonde pick the restaurant. They were at the corner of Among the Flowers Café, and the title wasn't a hyperbole. The outdoor tables were surrounded by a wall of flowers, sprouting out from boxes on the fence. They were sheltered, and Rachel was just thankful the pollination period had passed. Bees weren't her favorite winged creature.

"Sorry I'm late." She hung her bag on the back of the chair, and scooted it to the table. "Did you order yet?"

Brittany shook her head, looking back at the menu. "No, I haven't been here long."

"Okay," Rachel said, and glanced down at the salads.

"Busy this morning?"

The brunette glanced up, seeing the skeptical look thrown at her. "I'll tell you later, alright? I have a job for you."

Brittany sat up straighter. "Really?"

"Yeah. You said you were good with numbers, right?"

"Very." She flashed a smile.

The brunette nodded, perusing the menu again. "Well, how about computers?"

"It's like my second language."

"Hi," a woman interrupted, pulling out a notepad. Her gaze lingered on the brunette. "I'm Lizzy, I'll be your server today. Do you want more time…?"

The two shook their heads. Brittany spoke first. "I'll stick with water, and have the banana split crepes."

Rachel rolled her eyes at the tall blonde's choice. "I'll have a cup of iced chai and…" she glanced up at the waitress, smiling softly. "I'm sorry, I can't seem to decide on a salad. What d'you suggest?"

The young woman blinked nervously under her gaze. "I, uhm…the Summer Salad has always been my favorite. It's mixed greens with-"

Rachel shut her menu, handing it over. She smirked at the server. "Sounds mouth-watering."

The waitress blushed, quickly jotting down the orders and grabbing the menus. Brittany laughed when the woman was out of sight. "Wow, keep it in your pants, R."

The brunette grinned and shrugged, taking a sip of her water. "What, she was cute."

"So, what do you need with computing?"

"Oh," Rachel said, leaning closer to drop her voice. "I need you to hack someone. I'd do it, but I taught myself how to. It's a skill I'm not entirely confident in, and if you can do it without leaving a trace, well…"

Brittany shook her head. "You're really doing this, aren't you?"

"If you can't handle it, I'm more than happy to do it myself," Rachel said.

"I'll help," the tall blonde assured her.

Rachel paused, staring at her. "Just remember, you're my fathers' friend. Not mine. If you get in my way, I _will_ take you down."

Brittany leaned back in her chair, playing with the straw in her drink. "Alright, R. Who are we hacking?"

Rachel handed over a folded slip of paper. "Don't open it now. Take it home, and when you're done, send the files over."

The tall blonde nodded, sticking the note into her pocket. "Okay. So what now?"

Returning with the food and tea, the waitress gave them a bright smile. "There you go, a summer salad and banana split crepes. If you need anything else, just give a holler." She glanced at Rachel once more before scuttling off.

Rachel picked up her fork, mixing the lettuce and fruit. "Now, we have lunch. So what exactly does your multi-billion dollar company do?"

"Well," Brittany said, biting into one of the crepes. "Oh, this is delicious. Um, the company does work in a bunch of fields…"

Rachel nodded, half-listening to the woman's explanation. She'd researched the company already, she knew what they did. Unlike the Fabray industry, it was without any major corruption and thus fell off her radar. It could start buying bubbles for elephants, for all she cared.

Her gaze drifted over Brittany's shoulder, observing the other customers. The place was crowded. The food was good, so it wasn't a surprise. But her eyes stopped on a specific blonde, on what she inferred to be a lunch date.

"…we also work a lot with—"

"I didn't know your cousin was here," Rachel said. Brittany turned around in her seat, looking around the patio.

When she caught sight of him, she waved until she caught his attention. "Hey, Sam!"

He nodded at her, smiling. Quinn looked up from her food, locking eyes with the brunette. Rachel smirked, giving her a small finger wave. The blonde tried to suppress a smile, arching an eyebrow in return.

Brittany turned around, taking another bite. "Yeah, he's a copy cat. I told him I was meeting someone here, and he must've stolen the idea for a date."

Rachel laughed, tearing her eyes away from the Fabrays' daughter. "Well, they look happy."

"Yep," Brittany said, and took a sip. "I guess it's only a matter of time now."

The brunette quirked an eyebrow. "Until what?"

"Until he pops the question."

"Oh," Rachel said, brow furrowing. She had forgotten about that possibility.

Brittany watched her smile fall. "Don't repeat this, okay?"

"Okay," the brunette said, looking up questioningly.

"I don't think they'll work out, even if she does say yes."

"Why do you think that?"

"Q's a unicorn."

Rachel nearly spat out her tea. "Excuse me?"

"She's like you. She rides the rainbow."

"You mean she's _gay_?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?" Brittany tilted her head.

Rachel shook her head. "There's no way. She's a Fabray. Did she tell you?"

The tall blonde smiled sadly. "You can't choose the family you're born into. And she didn't have to tell me. You just have to watch her."

The waitress returned with the check and took the plates away. Rachel's eyes followed her, dropping down to her ass, before flicking over to Quinn's table. The blonde, embarrassed at having been caught staring, immediately looked down at her lunch.

The brunette slapped down two twenties and stood. "Well, I have to get going. Call me if you have questions, okay?"

Brittany nodded, smiling. "I'm gonna be the best partner in crime you've ever had."

Rachel rolled her eyes and walked away, muttering, "You'll be the only partner in crime."

The brunette walked out to her motorcycle, tugging on a brown leather jacket. She swung a leg over the machine, kicking the bar back up with her heel.

"Rachel! Wait!"

Rachel pulled the hair out from under her jacket, looking over to where the voice had come from. She grinned and leaned forward on the handlebars when the blonde stopped in front of her. "Quinn?"

The woman fiddled with her hands. "I, uh—Brittany said you left."

"Yeah, we finished lunch."

"Oh," she said, and rocked back on her heels.

Rachel chuckled, taking in the blonde and her brightly colored sundress, that cinched at the waist. "You're gorgeous."

"Thanks. I got it at-"

"I wasn't talking about the dress," Rachel interrupted.

"O-oh." Quinn blushed, looking down at her feet.

The brunette waited for her to speak, and was amused when no words came. "Did you, uhm, need something?"

The blonde glanced back up at her, biting her lip. Suddenly she blurted out, "How do you know Sam's cousin?"

"Old family friend," Rachel said. "I didn't know she and Sam were related until yesterday, when we bumped into each other at the party."

Quinn nodded. "So, were you two, uhm…on a date?"

The brunette laughed. "Oh, god no." When Quinn let out a held breath, Rachel tilted her head. "Would it bug you if we had been?"

The blonde stuttered. "W-what? No. It's just… She's like a sister to me, a-and…"

"And?" Rachel asked, quirking a brow.

Quinn narrowed her eyes playfully. "And it seemed like you were much more interested in the waitress than her."

Rachel laughed. "Oh, so you caught that?"

"The whole restaurant saw it. You're hardly subtle." The blonde rolled her eyes.

"Well, subtle is overrated anyway." She picked up her helmet, drumming her fingertips against the top of it. "Hey, I'm headed home, did you want a ride?"

Quinn eyed the bike, taking a small step closer. "I've never ridden a motorcycle."

"I have an extra helmet," Rachel said, offering the one in her hands. "Come on, it'll be fun."

"Well…" the blonde took the helmet, hesitating.

"Oh, there they are!" A familiar voice called out. Rachel huffed. She had been so close!

Brittany and Sam made their way over to join them. "Sweet ride," the cousin said, slinging an arm around Quinn. "I've always wanted one. Mom says she'll kill me before she sees me driving one, though."

The tall blonde laughed. "He's not kidding. She will."

Sam stuck out his hand, grinning at Rachel. "So, you must be the elusive Rachel that I keep hearing about."

Rachel shook it, smiling. "It seems so."

"We're neighbors, right? I don't know how I haven't seen you yet, but you've already won over Britt and Quinn. They both keep talking about you like you're some mysterious legend."

The brunette chuckled, not missing the blush on the youngest Fabray. "Nope, just the girl next door."

"So what were you guys doing before we so rudely interrupted?" Brittany asked, shooting Sam a fake glare.

"Rachel was just offering to give me a ride." Quinn handed the helmet back to the brunette, smiling softly. "Maybe another time?"

"No, Q-pie, you should go! Britts and I were going to catch up, anyway." Sam flashed her a grin. "You'd be bored. Typical family bickering stuff."

She hesitated, glancing between Rachel and him. "You sure? I don't mind-"

"Go!" He kissed her cheek. "I'll see you at the house, yeah?"

"Yeah," Quinn confirmed, watching him walk away with his cousin. She turned to find an amused brunette staring at her, and swallowed a sudden nervous lump in her throat.


	4. Exposure

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything.**

_Exposure_

Exposure gets a bad rep.

It's always seen as a bad thing, something irreversible. And maybe that's true. But it also leads to new experiences—like that drop in the pit of your stomach as the roller coaster careens down and spirals. Once you feel that, _live_ through that, there's no going back. But who wants to?

Of course, there is a sense of innocence, or naivety at least, that is lost with exposure. Whether it be that stomach flip or the realization that war isn't made by heroes, you lose something. With the stomach aerobics, perhaps you lose the contentment of living with both feet on the ground. And maybe you lose your optimism and faith in man as you attend more classes and lectures on _The Vietnam Experience._

However, it can also be argued that you gain. The roller coaster opens your mind to taking risks and actually _living_, rather than walking through life with arms crossed. With the knowledge of war corruption, maybe you'll be moved enough to run a campaign and accomplish peace—if not worldwide, at least for your nation.

Exposure gets a bad rep. But without it, we'd never know what we were missing to begin with.

* * *

Quinn swallowed the lump in her throat, trying not to melt into a pile of nerves under the brunette's steady gaze.

Rachel broke the stare, lifting up the back seat. She pulled out a pair of leggings and the spare helmet, handing both over to the blonde. "Uhm, I figured with the dress, you might want something underneath. You know, just in case." She smiled sheepishly.

"Oh," Quinn said, cheeks warming. "Right, I'll just go, uh, slip them on."

Rachel nodded, putting the seat back down. She leaned back and watched Quinn disappear back into the café. Once she was out of sight, the brunette glanced down at her phone, checking for any emails. Seeing none, she flicked the screen off and slipped it back into her pocket. She checked her watch. Quinn had been gone a while, now. Had she scared her away?

Just as she was about to go into the restaurant, the blonde stepped out onto the street. Her nose scrunched up as she adjusted to the bright sunlight. Rachel smiled softly. Quinn looked so goofy carrying around a large helmet while sporting a very feminine, very church-y sun dress, with the grey leggings poking out underneath.

"Okay," Quinn said, stopping in front of the bike. "Anything else?"

Rachel shook her head and slipped on her helmet. "Hop on."

The blonde wavered in place for a beat, then took the few steps behind Rachel. She tucked her hair back and slid on the helmet. Rachel gripped the handles, further stabilizing the bike. She glanced at Quinn expectantly.

Quinn muttered something to herself and swung a leg over the motorcycle. She put her hands on the space between them, tightening her hold when Rachel started up the engine.

"You're going to have to hold on," the brunette said. She let go of the handlebars for a moment to take Quinn's hands and move them to her hips. Rachel glanced behind her. "Don't be afraid to move closer. I don't bite."

She heard Quinn huff, but the blonde inched a little closer regardless.

"Ready?" Rachel asked, snapping down her visor.

"Yeah, I think so."

"Alright, here we go," Rachel said, and checked the corner for cars before turning onto it.

The engine roared to life, shuddering against their calves as it started up. Quinn's fingers further curled into the brunette's jacket. The bike leaned on the turn and Quinn let out a surprised squeak. Rachel chuckled, keeping her speed low at first to allow the blonde to grow accustomed to riding. She sped up after a few lights, and by then, Quinn's grip had slackened.

When they hit a red light, Rachel glanced over her shoulder. "How are you doing?"

"Good," Quinn said, eyes sparkling.

"Good," Rachel said. "We're almost back at the houses."

"Oh," Quinn said, forgetting the drive was so short. "Do you, uhm…"

"What?" Rachel's brow furrowed.

"D-do you think we could take the long way back?"

She glanced back at the blonde and laughed. "Yeah, sure. We could do a few more loops if you're up for it."

Quinn nodded quickly, grin spreading. "Can we?"

Rachel smiled and revved the engine. "Let's go."

As they moved through the intersection, Rachel felt the space between them disappear as Quinn's arms encircled her more firmly. Her heart fluttered at the warmth against her back.

"_Hey, Q," the little brunette called over her shoulder. _

_The young Quinn looked up from the doll she was playing with in the yard. "Yeah?"_

"_Race you," she said, pointing to the pool._

_Quinn stood slowly and brushed off the grass. "I don't know…"_

"_Come on!" she whined. "Are you scared or something?"_

_The little blonde huffed. "No. We both know I'm faster than you Babs."_

"_Then _prove_ it," the little brunette said, throwing a grin over her shoulder before racing towards the pool._

"_Not fair!" Quinn protested, but took off after her friend anyway._

_Catching the brunette at the edge of the pool, her momentum carried her forward, and she wrapped her arms around Barbara, taking them both down._

_The cold splash of water hit them both unexpectedly. When they surfaced, their hands were still connected, giggles rippling out onto the clear water._

* * *

The bike slowed to a stop, engine clucking. Rachel twisted the key, turning it off. She exhaled, turning in her seat slightly to look back at the blonde.

Quinn's arms dropped from around her waist, but she made no move to get off the motorcycle. Rachel watched her curiously. Her hazel eyes were a bright shade. "Wow," she breathed out, pushing up her visor. "That was amazing, Rach!"

A corner of Rachel's lips twitched upwards in amusement. "Yeah? I'm glad you liked it."

"Are you kidding? It felt like flying. _I_ was flying." She smiled, gaze connecting firmly with the brunette's. "Thank you."

Rachel chuckled, pulling off her helmet. Her hair fell down into ringlets. "No problem, Quinn. If you ever need a ride again, let me know."

Quinn quirked her eyebrow. "Again? You know, I didn't need a ride today."

"Right, I just-"

The blonde smirked. "You just tricked Sam and his cousin into letting me ride with you, if I remember correctly."

"Please. You were about to jump on before they joined us," Rachel said pointedly.

"Only because you had turned on the charm and practically brainwashed me into-"

"Wait," Rachel interrupted, a wide grin spreading across her face. "You think I'm charming?"

Quinn smacked her arm. "_That's_ what you got from that?"

The brunette shrugged. "Well, we're sitting in my driveway, the bike is off, and you still have yet to get off it. So, yeah. I'm charming."

The blonde blushed.

"_Oi_! Corcoran," an angry voice shouted from the cottage steps. Rachel glanced over to find Santana glaring at her. "Do you not answer your phone, anymore?"

"Uhm, sorry San," Rachel said, "I was a little busy."

The Latina looked over Rachel's shoulder and caught sight of the Fabray's daughter. "Oh, Quinn. What're you doing here?"

Quinn cleared her throat, finally slipping off the bike and handing Rachel her helmet. "I, uh, Rachel gave me a ride home."

"Weren't you at lunch with Sam?" Santana asked, narrowing her eyes.

The blonde raised her eyebrow in return. "Yes?"

The Latina took a few steps forward, nearing the pair. "Well, I would have thought he'd have taken you back."

"He would have," Quinn said evenly. "But we ran into Rachel and his cousin, and he hung back in town with her." She set her jaw. "Not that it's any of your business, Lopez."

Santana eyed the blonde. "I manage your family's affairs. It_ is_ my business, _Miss_ _Fabray._"

Rachel looked between the two, and stood from her motorcycle. "Uhm, right. Santana, can you give me a second and I'll be right over?"

"Whatever," she responded, but complied and gave the two some space.

"Why is she here?" Quinn asked, still tensed from the encounter.

Rachel shrugged. "I'm not sure. But we are friends. We fundraised together."

Quinn snorted. "I don't know how you can be _friends_ with someone like that. That would mean she has a heart." Her gaze flicked from the Latina to the brunette. "Oh, I meant to ask you—there's another event this weekend, and after it, all the kids are going to sneak out and have a bonfire on the beach by my house…You should come."

Rachel tilted her head with an amused smile. "I don't think there was actually a question in there."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Forget it."

"I'll be there," the brunette assured her.

"Okay," Quinn said. "Well, I should, uh, probably go now."

Rachel nodded. "See you around, Quinn."

"Yeah. Thanks again for the ride."

"No problem."

When Quinn turned the corner, the brunette faced Santana. "Okay, who spat in your cheerios?"

"Come on, Rachel," Santana groaned. "I know you have needs and all, but _her?_ Did it have to be _Quinn Fabray?_"

"Excuse me?"

"Don't play dumb," the Latina said, crossing her arms. "It doesn't suit you."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Rachel responded, putting away the helmets. "Quinn needed a ride, and I was heading home anyway."

"Right, so this is just about conserving gas," Santana mocked, quirking an eyebrow. "Of course, it has _absolutely nothing_ to do with you wanting to get into a certain blonde's panties."

The brunette cocked her head in annoyance. "Must you always be so crass?"

"Hey, I'm just calling it as I see it," she said.

"Well, I'm not blind. Anyone with functioning eyes can see she's sexy." Rachel leaned back on the bike. "But I'm not going there. Anyway, she has a boyfriend."

"And she's a _Fabray_," Santana said, nose crinkling.

"What's your deal with her?"

Santana's eyebrows shot up. "Are you kidding me?"

Rachel stared blankly at her.

"_Ay_, _dios mio_. Where do I start? She's got a metal pole stuck so far up her ass that it's made her some kind of cyborg, incapable of any feeling. Seriously, I've tried to be civil—have normal, _human _conversations with her. But she's a fucking ice queen. And there's also the prude, snobbish nature. Or her bitchy, bossy mood. I mean, I'm not even her employee, for god's sake. Oh, and-"

"Enough, Santana," Rachel interrupted. "That's enough."

Santana furrowed her brow. "Excu-"

"Hey! There you are, Rachel!" Both sets of eyes flew to the tall blonde coming through the side yard to join them.

Santana lowered her voice, setting her hands on her hips. "What, you're here a day and suddenly you're everyone's BFF?"

"Oh, calm down Satan," Rachel muttered, before greeting Brittany. "You and Sam are back already?"

Brittany shrugged. "Yeah. Town got kind of boring, and Sam was missing Q."

"Gotcha. Quinn and I just got back, too."

"Oh, I bumped into her on the way over. It seemed like she had a good time." The tall blonde gave the Latina a bright smile. "Hi, I'm gonna guess you're Santana Lopez?"

"T-that would be me," Santana said, stumbling a bit when Brittany launched into a bear hug.

Rachel bit her lip to keep from grinning at the scene. Santana grew flustered, eyes flighty. She didn't seem able to figure out where to place her hands in the embrace, and settled on patting Brittany's back awkwardly.

When the tall blonde pulled back, grin still in place, Santana cleared her throat, suddenly very interested in the ground. "Uhm, it's nice to meet you. Sam's cousin, right?"

"Yep!" Brittany ducked her head to meet the Latina's gaze. "I don't know how we kept missing each other. I mean, you follow Mrs. Fabray around more than her shadow, 'cause of your job and all. And I'm always at their house, visiting Sam." She paused. "It's weird, right?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess so," the Latina replied, shifting her weight.

"Well, now that we've officially met, we should grab drinks sometime," Brittany said. "Oh, unless you like waffles more. Or ice cream. But if we get ice cream, you have to get sprinkles. It's like, a crime to eat ice cream without all that colorful joy."

Santana's gaze flicked up to her blue eyes questioningly. "Yeah, I-I'll get back to you on that."

"Okay!" Brittany said, bouncing on her heels. She whipped out a pen, and took Santana's arm. Scribbling out a few digits, she said, "Call me when you're free." Then, turning to Rachel, she gestured at the cottage. "Meet me inside after, R?"

Rachel nodded, swallowing the laughter bubbling up at the bright blush covering the Latina's face—the woman had never blushed before in her life, never mind stuttered.

When the tall blonde was out of earshot, Santana faced Rachel, narrowing her eyes. "Not a word."

The brunette pressed her lips together, dragging her fingers across them like she was zipping her mouth shut.

Rolling her eyes, Santana stalked off.

Rachel chuckled to herself and followed Brittany into her house. _Not gay, my ass._

She found Brittany reclined on her couch, iPad in her lap and a bowl of sherbet in hand. The tall blonde glanced up at her with a grin.

"So, Santana, huh?"

Brittany smiled down at her ice cream. "Yeah. She's a puzzle I want to put together." Glancing back up at the brunette, she shrugged. "Anyway, I got into those files you wanted."

Rachel's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Already?"

"Well, yeah," Brittany said, and hesitated. "Should I have waited? I thought you'd want them right away."

"No, no, this is perfect. Thank you." Rachel sat down in the chair next to her and took the iPad offered to her. "It's all up here?"

"Yep, and I've got it backed up onto a flash drive as well." Brittany paused, pulling the spoon from her mouth. "Can I ask you something?"

Rachel scrolled through the video files. They seemed to be organized by date only, not name. "Sure."

She'd have to look through them all. The brunette let out a light sigh. There was a lot to do, and she still wasn't completely sure how she wanted to take the therapist down. But she knew she wanted to get creative.

"Why did you want everyone's sessions with Dr. Pillsbury? Some of the stuff in there is really private. It could ruin some of her clients."

Rachel's gaze centered on clear blue eyes. She raised an eyebrow. "Brittany, that's the point."

"But they didn't do anything to you!" she said, then paused, correcting herself. "Okay, well, most of them didn't, anyway."

The brunette set the iPad down on her knees. "Look, I appreciate your help. I do. And I understand that you promised Daddy you'd be there for me no matter what I chose. But it's going to mean causing people pain, and if you can't handle that, you shouldn't be here."

The blonde held her stare. "You're wrong. Just because you want revenge doesn't mean you have to take everyone around you down."

"So they become collateral damage," Rachel said, shrugging.

Brittany stood, moving to put her bowl in the sink. "I don't agree with you. I think there's another way. But if you want to take this path that's your choice and I'll follow you." Rachel opened her mouth to argue but she was cut off. "I've got to go take care of something for my company, but I'll be back later tonight to help. Just think about what I said, okay?"

Rachel bit her lip and nodded, watching the intuitive woman go.

Her phone buzzed beside her and she picked it up, seeing a text from Santana. She flipped it open to read.

**_Mother-daughter benefit noon Saturday – be there Corcoran_.**

The brunette rolled her eyes at the empty threat. **_But I don't have a mother_ _to attend._**

A few minutes went by before the Latina's reply arrived. **_In case u hadn't noticed, my madre isn't hanging around either_**

She bit her lip. **_Mrs. Fabray won't mind?_**

**_Fuck her highness._**

Rachel chuckled, placing her cell off to the side. She knew having the Latina in her corner would come in handy, but she hadn't realized she'd hand her the therapist on a platter.

The annual mother-daughter tea would be the perfect place to use her new films and shake up the town.

* * *

Brittany caught sight of Rachel standing by the fountain, flicking through a tablet. She sighed, shaking her head. She still hated what the brunette was doing, but at least she listened when the tall blonde vetoed a few of the worse videos—some of the people here were struggling to breathe underwater, and Brittany didn't want to bring their trials to light. They were good people trying to hold onto the life they had.

When she reached Rachel, flipped a coin into the fountain, quickly making a wish.

The brunette glanced at her before returning her attention to the screen in front of her.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Brittany said, gaze still focused on the droplets of water flowing out, "but I smell the distinct smell of retribution in the air."

"You knew it would happen sooner or later," Rachel replied.

Brittany hummed. "But this is such a nice event, for once. I actually like it. It's just too bad my mother is stuck in LA."

Rachel gave her a small smile. "Yeah. Sorry about that, by the way."

"It's okay." The tall blonde sighed. "I mean, we're not particularly close, but it'd still be nice to have her here."

The brunette gave her arm a light squeeze. "Well, she doesn't know what she's missing."

Brittany smiled and looked over her shoulder to connect eyes with a certain Latina. She winked, and chuckled when the woman picked up her pace. She turned to Rachel. "You better get going. She just entered the tent."

Rachel straightened, handing the blonde her tablet. "Thanks!" Brittany nodded, wandering into the other tent to snack on a few appetizers. At least, the few that actually looked edible.

The brunette glanced around before pushing back a flap of the tent and entering. Santana's head whipped in her direction before she groaned, pressing a palm against her forehead. "Shit, Corcoran, I thought you were Ice Queen's mother."

"I wish you'd stop calling her that," Rachel replied, taking in her frazzled friend. "What's wrong?"

"Well, I'm hung over and I lost the fucking DVD," she said, rifling through a few bags under the table. "They're going to kill me. Like, actually hire an assassin to throw me into the Sound."

Rachel chuckled. "San, I'm sure you didn't lose it."

"I'm _never_ drinking again!"

"Okay, I'll believe that when I see it," Rachel said, rolling her eyes. "Did you check the DVD player?"

"What? Of course I checked the fucking-DVD-player," she grumbled, still crawling around the floor hopelessly. Rachel clicked open the machine, and saw that her copy of the presentation was still on top. She turned to Santana, quirking an eyebrow. "You sure?"

The Latina pulled herself up, peeking at the player. Once she saw the pink and blue disk she let out a long breath and threw her arms around her tiny friend. "_Literally_ saved my ass, Rachel. _Thank you, _thank you thank you!"

Rachel swatted at her arms, shrugging out of the hug. "Lopez, I think you're still drunk."

She nodded slowly, laughing a little. "Yeah. That makes two of us."

"Well, you don't smell or anything, so don't worry. I don't think you'll get tossed in the sea by some strange man with a hood." The brunette laughed.

Santana narrowed her eyes. "Ha ha, very funny. Now get out of here, I've got work to do. I'll catch up with you later, yeah?"

Rachel gave a little bow. "As you wish, madame."

The Latina chucked a pen at her as she exited the media tent, catching her square in the back of the head. Rachel rubbed the spot, muttering to herself something about revenge and Latinas needing to get laid.

A waiter offered her a glass of bubbly liquid and she took it, taking a few large sips to empty the glass. She normally didn't allow herself to drink, but figured she'd need the sense of lost control to play her part this afternoon. The waiter looked at her in surprise and took back her glass.

"I didn't know you were a fan of champagne," a familiar voice said. Rachel turned to find Quinn looking at her in amusement.

She winced. "Oh, you saw that?"

The blonde chuckled. "Um, yeah." Then her eyes softened. "I didn't expect to see you here. I didn't think you'd want to come, because of…"

Rachel's brow furrowed. "Because of?"

Quinn fidgeted. "Er…"

A bell chime saved the nervous blonde from further embarrassment, and she gave Rachel a quick smile before disappearing to find her table.

The brunette shook her head in amusement and settled in her seat as Dr. Pillsbury took the steps to the stage. "Thanks to the outstanding actions of founding mother, Judy Fabray, your generous donations today ensure that special needs children receive top-notch care in mental health facilities close to home…"

She scanned the audience, finding Brittany standing in the back near the champagne. Quinn and her mother were a few tables in front of her. "…and now please, enjoy this very special video presentation that demonstrates just how vital an effort this is!" The therapist gestured towards the screen, clapping excitedly as the music began. She made her way to her seat as pictures faded in and out.

Rachel clapped along with the people at her table, looking bored. She counted in her head, shoulders tightening as the clip drew near to its break. Suddenly, as she approached ten, another file cut into the presentation with a loud crack. There were murmurs in the audience as the screen came into focus, revealing a woman sitting Dr. Pillsbury's office. Across the top of the screen was a website's address: .

The members at her table exchanged confused glances as the therapist's voice lit over the crowd. _"And have you hit bottom?"_

The woman in the video sighed, stare fixed on the clasped hands in her lap. When she spoke her voice was broken. _"Close. I drove my children to summer camp loaded on pain killers and vodka."_

The clip was covered by another woman's photo before shattering into the next clip. This woman, a blonde, leaned back in her chair, exasperated. _"How can I tell my husband I slept with his sister? He's never going to forgive me."_

Gasps arose in the audience, and the woman stood and rushed out of the tent, purse covering her face.

Judy stood, eyes narrowed and flicking over each table. "Turn it off," she growled.

Rachel watched as Santana jumped up from her chair, dashing towards the media tent.

The clips continued to play. Next was Rachel herself. The brunette sunk in her chair a little, hiding her face. She feigned embarrassment, mumbling a mortified, "Oh my god."

"_I can't remember the last time someone expressed interest in me," _Video-Rachel said, and hesitated. _"I've been alone for awhile now, so there has to be a reason."_

The clip cut to one of Judy, sitting stiff in the chair, unblinking. _"How's your relationship with your daughter?"_

Rachel watched as the older Fabray's mouth fell open in shock, eyes finding her confused daughter.

"_Tense. Distant. Truth is I've never really felt close to Quinn. Sometimes I wonder if having a child was a mistake."_

The young Fabray stood still, uncertain how to handle the information she had just been given. She glanced over at her mother, looking as if the woman had just yanked her heart out like an evil queen. The expression caused a pang of recognition in Rachel's chest.

_"Daddy!" the little brunette shrieked, squirming in an officer's hands. The policeman scooped her up, holding her tight against his body as she squirmed. "Daddy! No!" She began to kick and the man dropped her accidentally._

_She sprinted out onto the porch, eyes scanning the darkness. The lights from the sirens cloaked the driveway in eerie flashes. Spying dark forms moving towards the armored truck in her yard, she dodged the officers reaching for her and skidded against the stones, stopping before the van's doors. _

_"Daddy!" She spread her arms out, pleading with the men who had her father in cuffs. "You can't take him."_

_A man came up and dragged her roughly out of the way. "He's a villain, kid. We're doing you a favor."_

_Her arms grew limp and she stopped fussing to look over to her remaining father. His eyes found hers, no fight left in either of them. He gave her a small, sad smile, and it was then that she realized he wasn't going to do anything._

_He was going to let them take him. He was going to leave her._

The screen blackened as the power was shut off, and Santana reappeared with a bundle of cords in her hand. But the damage was done. Rachel, still pretending to be horrified at her moment on tape, ducked her head and made to move out the side flap. On her way, Quinn rushed past her, grabbing her arm and tugging her along. Rachel quickly matched the blonde's pace and took in the glimpse of raw pain etched across her features before the daughter slowed and schooled her features. Then, she turned to Rachel, voice flat and eyes distant. "Get me out of here."


	5. Composure

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**Thanks for all the reviews and follows/favorites! Glad you like it, it's been fun to write.**

* * *

_Composure_

Composure is everything.

At least, that's what they tell you.

Feel like you're going to melt into a puddle of fear? Cover it up with an indifferent expression and hope no one notices your wobbling knees. Want to punch out a prick's nose? Don't let it show—give him a sickening sweet smile instead.

Somehow, emotion becomes weakness. If someone picks up on what you're feeling, on some emotion flickering inside, it gives them something to run with. If they sense your terror, maybe they'll take the lead with a new air of superiority. When they see the flash of anger in your eyes, they'll push your buttons until you become the bad guy. And god forgive they ever spot a glimpse of _love_, whether it's hidden in a warm embrace or even just a lingering gaze.

Because no matter what you feel, it's better to show nothing.

* * *

Rachel bit her lip in hesitation and glanced over the blonde's shoulder. The crowd was now flowing out of the tent, murmuring about the mortifying turn of the event. The older Fabray was in the midst, frantic pace causing her heels to click loudly against the stone path. Quinn's eyes snapped shut as the sound registered. The grimaced motion snapped the brunette into decision.

"Don't move," Rachel said, knowing they were blending in with the crowd by just standing still for the moment. She removed her fedora and placed it on the blonde, along with the scarf around her neck. She looked back in the direction of the swarm, and saw Judy's searching gaze run over them without stopping.

Rachel sighed, taking Quinn's hand. "Okay, come on."

She wove through the horde of mother-daughter pairs towards the line of bushes that separated her property from the Fabrays. Behind her, Quinn still hadn't said a word or even asked where they were going.

She chanced a look back and saw the impassive, neutral stare that had surfaced after the initial pain. Santana's description of an Ice Queen had become accurate. And Rachel hated the fact.

_It's your fault she's in pain_, Rachel reminded herself. _Yeah, but it was necessary,_ she tried to reason, and shook her head as they squeezed through an opening in the shrubs. As she dropped the blonde's hand, unlocking her front door, a question ricocheted around her mind. _Was it, though_?

* * *

Rachel watched as Quinn held up her phone and groaned, tossing it against the other side of her couch. The brunette gave her a sympathetic smile from across the room and began pouring red wine into two glasses.

"I swear, if she calls one more time…" Quinn trailed off, accepting the glass. After a sip, she threw up her hand in frustration. "I mean, does she actually think I'm going to pick up after she said _that_? That she wishes she never _had_ me?"

The blonde took a larger gulp of the red liquid and sprawled out across the sofa. Rachel curled up in a chair nearby, rapping her fingers against the glass gently. "Maybe it was an old session?"

"She was wearing the necklace I got her for Mother's Day this year. Isn't that just _perfect_?" Quinn snorted.

Rachel bit her lip. "Oh. I'm sorry-"

"Don't be, it's not your fault my mother can't stand the thought of me." Quinn swirled the wine and watched as it neared the rim. "I just can't believe I didn't see it."

_But the video was out of context_, Rachel thought, words brimming on her tongue. The actual clip was taken from a session in which Judy had been discussing her marriage. The only reason she resented the blonde's birth was because it had tied her to her husband.

But it wasn't like she could spill this out to the broken blonde lying on her couch.

_Collateral damage_, Rachel reminded herself. _Just play the part_. _You needed to cause a rift in the family. She'll be fine_.

"It was an awful way to find out," Rachel relented, shifting in her seat. "It's too bad you had to hear it in the first place, never mind in front of a crowd."

Quinn rolled her head towards the brunette. "Well, yeah. But the truth probably wouldn't have come out any other way, so I'm glad it happened." She looked back up at the ceiling after draining her glass. "My family is good at keeping secrets."

Rachel's brow furrowed. Did she know? Had the Fabrays explained to their daughter what had happened to the family next door? Had she come across a disclosed file and demanded answers? Had she pieced together the puzzle all on her own?

A buzzing against her leg shook her from her thoughts, and she pulled it out of a pocket to check the screen. When she glanced in her direction, Quinn was still playing with the glass. Rachel stood, placing her own wine on the table. "Excuse me for a moment, I've got to take this."

The blonde nodded, watching her step outside.

"Hello?"

"_Hey, you okay?"_

Rachel rolled her shoulders back, glad Santana wasn't calling to yell at her for ditching or something. "Yeah. How about you? Mrs. Fabray couldn't have been too happy about the interruption."

The Latina blew out a breath. _"Man, that woman hates surprises, like even the happy ones that are supposed to make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I thought she was going to murder me with those dagger eyes of hers."_

"Well, it's good to hear from you," Rachel said, chuckling. "I'm assuming it means you're off the hook?"

"_For now," _Santana said._ "I'm on damage control. She's too busy running around trying to find her daughter." _She paused._ "Tell me you're not with her right now."_

Rachel hummed, looking down at her feet.

"_Corcoran."_

"Well, she really needed somewhere to go…"

"_Corcoran."_

"…and I mean, I couldn't just leave her there in the middle of the lawn…"

"_Corcoran."_

"…so maybe I did take her in…"

"_Corcoran!"_

"Santana! What did you expect me to do?"

The woman groaned over the phone and muttered something under her breath before clearing her throat and speaking. _"I just don't get what you see in Ice Queen. But after the whole… regretted-child thing, I can see how she might need some help. Just keep an eye on her, okay? Like don't let her kill herself or anything. 'Cause then dragon lady will really be pissed and I don't wanna deal with that shit."_

"Really? That's what this is all about?" Rachel deadpanned, but quirked a small smile, knowing that was as close as it got to the Latina admitting she was concerned.

"_Are you watching her right now?"_ Santana growled back.

"No, you called-"

"_Then hang up and watch her, Corcoran!"_

"Okay, okay!" Rachel said, hanging up and shaking her head in amusement.

When she shut the screen door behind her, Quinn was no longer on the couch. She cursed under her breath, stomach dropping for a number of reasons. Worry filled her for Quinn's safety, even while the rational part of her brain nagged that after downing that glass, the blonde probably had just gotten up to pee. She wandered around the living room and into the kitchen, finding the entire first floor empty.

Rachel's heart rate accelerated. She hoped Quinn was only upstairs, but that could also pose a lot of problems. Though she kept her father's journal and a few other key pieces of her vendetta under the floorboards downstairs, her laptop and all the files she'd printed were scattered in places upstairs. They were well hidden, but Rachel hadn't accounted for a tipsy woman to be ambling through her household. Well, unattended, anyway.

"Quinn?" She called out from the bottom of the stairs. Hearing nothing, she muttered to herself and climbed up to the second level. "Quinn? Are you up here?"

She entered her room, where the majority of the notes and her computer were stored, and was relieved to find nothing out of place and no blonde in sight. Checking up on the other few rooms, she headed back downstairs. With a frustrated sigh, she called out again, "Quinn?"

"Yes?"

Rachel almost jumped at the sound of the voice behind her. Quinn leaned against the wall separating the room from the kitchen, swirling her wine in hand. At Rachel's surprised expression, the blonde quirked an eyebrow.

"I-I uh," Rachel said, willing her heart to slow down. "I was looking for you. I got back and you weren't on the couch."

"Oh," the blonde said, pushing off the wall. "I got up for some fresh air on your back porch, then refilled my glass." She passed Rachel, who shivered as their arms brushed, and plopped down on the couch again. Looking up at the frazzled brunette, she frowned, tilting her head to the side. "I'm sorry if I worried you?"

Rachel shook her head quickly. "Oh, no. I just wasn't sure if you'd left." She moved to pick up her own glass and took the first substantial sip from it.

"Rach," Quinn said, softly. The undeniable husk in the voice cause the brunette to turn before she fully registered the nickname. The blonde gave her a small, sympathetic smile and patted the spot next to her. "I'm an asshole. Here you've been listening to me rant, and I haven't even asked how you're doing."

The brunette ducked her head, feigning embarrassment. "Oh, we don't have to talk about that."

Quinn rolled her eyes, small smile still in place.

Blushing, though she wasn't entirely sure why, Rachel complied and settled herself on the opposite end of the couch. The blonde frowned slightly but it was gone as she sat up straighter. "Rachel, I don't want to overstep any boundaries, and I know we've only just met, but…" She paused until the brunette's confused gaze met hers. "But, never believe you're undesirable. You're the most fascinating person I've ever met."

Rachel glanced down, humming. "Thanks. It just gets hard sometimes, you know?"

"Anyone would be lucky to have you," Quinn said, a little too quickly. Catching herself reaching out to the brunette, Quinn stood suddenly. "I, uhm. I'm going to get some more wine. Do you want any?"

Rachel held up her still-full glass, smiling. "Maybe later."

"Okay," Quinn said, and rushed into the other room.

Before Rachel could question her behavior, the doorbell rang. She stood to get it, peeking through the curtain to find the blonde's boyfriend.

Surprised, she unlocked the door and pulled it open. "Hello, Sam."

"Hey," he said, peeking over her shoulder. "I, uhm, heard about what happened to Quinn, and I can't find her. She hasn't been answering my texts, either, and I thought maybe she'd be over here with you?"

_Not answering his calls?_ Rachel shook the thought away and glanced over her shoulder. "Quinn? Yeah-" The wide-eyed look the blonde shot her made her pause. Quinn shook her head quickly, ducking behind the kitchen counter.

"She's here…?" Sam prompted, confused. His gaze fixed on the brunette as she returned her attention to him.

"Uhm, yeah. She was for a little bit but she left."

Sam's smile faltered as he sighed. "Any idea where she went?"

Rachel shrugged. "I thought she might have gone to you."

"Damn," he muttered, glancing back down to his phone. "Well, let me know if she turns up again?"

The brunette gave him a slight nod. "Sure."

She closed the door and watched him put the phone to his ear as he left her porch. In the other room, she could hear the blonde's phone buzz against the couch cushion. Amused but mostly curious, she padded into the kitchen. Still crouching on the floor, Quinn greeted her with an embarrassed smile. "Is he gone?"

Rachel glanced out the window. "Yep." She held out a hand, pulling the blonde to her feet. "Trouble in paradise?"

Quinn let out a heavy sigh. "It's a long story."

"We've got time," Rachel countered, offering a small smile.

The blonde ran a hand through her hair. She looked down at her feet, shifting her weight against the ledge. "I've already vented enough."

Rachel pulled herself onto the counter beside Quinn. She plucked her fedora off the woman, causing the blonde's gaze to flick up and meet her own. She settled it on her head and leaned back. "I get the feeling you don't vent often. Consider it a splurge day."

Chuckling, the blonde played with the scarf still around her neck. After a moment, she blurted out, "He keeps proposing."

Rachel blinked. "Proposing what?"

"That I marry him," Quinn said quietly, eyes dropping to the floor.

"Oh," Rachel responded, immediately searching the blonde's hand for a ring. "But you haven't said yes?"

The other woman shrugged, turning so her back was against the counter.

"Mind if I ask why?"

Quinn laughed humorously. "I don't know why." She faced the brunette again, fingers playing with the wine glass. "I mean, he's the perfect guy, right?"

"He seems nice."

"He's nice, he's funny, he's charming, he's goofy, he's athletic," Quinn rattled off.

"But?"

Quinn's hazel eyes finally met the brunette's. "But I want… more."

She watched as Rachel's forehead furrowed in thought. "More what?"

"I don't know!" she exclaimed, and began to pace the small space. "I just want… I know movies and Hollywood romance are about as real as fairy tales, but I mean, don't we all hold out for that little spark? The something that clicks between people, the stuff that makes us believe in love in first sight? Some people wait for it, and get it. So why not me?" She huffed.

Rachel bit her lip. "Who's to say it won't happen for you?"

"Because I'm in my twenties and surprisingly enough, of all the guys I've dated, Sam's been the best. By a lot. So it makes sense to marry him, because what if I say no and settle down a little further down the road with someone worse?"

"So you're not sure you can do better?" the brunette asked, frowning.

"I," Quinn paused. "I'm not sure I'll find more."

Rachel hummed in response.

The blonde stopped in front of her. "You think I'm crazy, don't you?"

She took a sip of her wine slowly, before replying. "I think we all want more, whether or not we are able to define exactly what that _more_ might be. We all want those comfortable relationships that fit like unraveling sweaters, but keep surprising us like fireworks. We want a love that won't burn us but is hot enough to outlast a lifetime, or even just past a honeymoon. It's the more that keeps us waiting, whether we admit to it or not."

Quinn nodded, eyebrows knitting together in concentration. "Exactly! Too bad you're not, like, a guy. We just work." Rachel quirked an eyebrow in amusement, watching the blonde's nose crinkle as she realized what she had said. "Oh, I mean… you know. I'm not, uhm. I don't want to date you. Not that you're not pretty. Because you are. Very. But I…"

"But you have a boyfriend," Rachel supplied, laughing. The blonde nodded in relief, hitting her forehead in mortification. The brunette slid off the countertop and guided a swaying Quinn back to the living room, where she collapsed into a couch.

She looked up at Rachel, smiling. "Hey."

Rachel chuckled. "Hi."

Quinn tugged her down, so she was sitting beside her, and rested her head against the brunette's shoulder for support. Her head was getting heavy, the wine going straight to it. "Thank you." Unsure of what she was being thanked for, Rachel let the woman continue. "Thanks for s-saving me."

"I wouldn't call it saving-"

The blonde poked her side. "No, y-you got me out of the hell hole." Before Rachel could respond, she was yawning. "Can I stay?"

"I think you better," Rachel said, taking in Quinn's state. She hadn't realized how much wine the blonde had had. She winced imagining what would happen if she returned home like this. Words would definitely be exchanged, and regret would fill the air like thick humidity.

"Cool," Quinn mumbled. "We should get off this fucking island tomorrow."

"And go where?"

"To the moon," Quinn said, and giggled. The laughing sent her rolling off Rachel's shoulder and into her lap. The brunette stiffened slightly, before forcing herself to relax.

She couldn't stop a smile from spreading. She began to sing the first song that came to mind. _"Fly me to the moon__. __Let me play among the stars__, __let me see what spring is like__on Jupiter and Mars__…"_

Quinn smacked her arm playfully, causing her to lose focus. "We can't really go to the moon!"

Rachel smirked. "Why not?"

The blonde only rolled her eyes, calming down from her fit of laughter. She gazed back up at the brunette. "You have a lovely voice, by the way."

"Thank you," Rachel said, holding back a shiver when the blonde gnawed on her lip. She yawned a second time, eyes growing half-lidded. The brunette glanced out the back window, noticing the setting sun. It wasn't too late, but she could tell the alcohol was settling in the other woman's system, buzz gone.

"Sweaters."

"What?" Rachel, confused, looked back down at the blonde, whose eyes had closed.

"Sweaters and fireworks," she mumbled, and Rachel shook her head, smiling.

"Sweaters and fireworks," the brunette repeated, before scooping up Quinn and taking her into the guest room, a couple doors down from her own.

Once Quinn was tucked in, she left the woman a glass of water and left pain killers by it. She retired to her own room, sitting cross-legged on the bed with her laptop on top of her lap. She pulled up a video on the screen. But before she could play it, the house phone rang.

She leaned over and picked it up on the next ring, wondering who had gotten the number. Hell, she didn't even know the number. "Hello?"

"_Rachel Corcoran?"_

"May I ask who is calling?"

There was a pause on the line. _"It's Judy Fabray."_

"Oh," Rachel said, shifting.

"_I, uhm, knew the person who lived in the home before you, and hoped the number hadn't changed."_

"Well, you got me," Rachel said awkwardly when the older Fabray didn't continue.

"_Yes, I suppose I did."_

"Can I help you with anything?" Rachel prompted after a moment.

"_Actually, yes. I wanted to apologize for the disastrous turn of events at the mother-daughter tea. I'm sorry you were involved in it."_

"It's okay," Rachel said. "It's not as if you planned it to happen. I just hope the authorities can catch whoever exposed the sessions."

"_Yes, me too."_

"I'm sorry about your video, too."

"_Actually, that leads me to my next question. Have you seen Quinn? It's getting dark out and I haven't seen her yet. I'm growing worried."_

Rachel hesitated. She could let the mother know Quinn was safe. It wouldn't make the family rift any less gaping. But then she risked losing the blonde's trust if she ever found out. Then again, she'd gain favor with Mrs. Fabray, whose approval could get many free passes.

"_Rachel?"_

"She's safe."

"_She's with you?"_ The woman sounded surprised.

"Yes," Rachel said. "Give her space, okay? I'll get her to return once she's cooled down."

A sigh of relief was barely audible over the line. _"Thank you."_

"Don't mention it."

"_And, Rachel?"_

"Yes, Mrs. Fabray?"

"_In two days, several of the women who were subjected to the website are meeting with me to discuss a plan of action. I expect you to be there as well—our home, 10:00am for a brunch."_

"I'd be honored," Rachel said smoothly, knowing she'd made the right choice, despite her sinking stomach.

"_Perfect."_

With that, the line ended and Rachel dropped it into its cradle. She returned her attention to the screen, needing motivation now more than ever.

"_And we are live, Channel Five coverage of the Manhattan bombing. The suspect has not been confirmed, nor motive, but law enforcement is working quickly with the fire department to secure the site and process evidence. For now, they are running leads received through interviews collected by those who survived the blast."_

_The camera zoomed in to the line of emergency vehicles behind the anchorman, where Russell Fabray stood with the SWAT team, covered in dirt and grime. The shot panned upwards, capturing the white ash still falling from the sky._

She scrolled down the list, clicking on a file much further down.

_An anchorwoman sat at a desk, grim faced, as a picture of two men flashed in the upper right corner of the screen. _

"_Officials state that all evidence leads to Leroy and Hiram Berry, a gay couple living in New York City. Although Leroy died with the explosion, Hiram is currently incarcerated. His case opens tomorrow. With several eyewitness accounts, the trial should go smoothly. In fact, it's not so much a question of whether or not they're guilty, but what sentence Hiram will face."_

_The woman gave the camera a long, hard stare. "And I think I speak for all of us when I say he deserves capital punishment."_

Rachel closed the window, gritting her teeth. She took a deep breath and opened one more video.

_The same anchorwoman sat next to Dr. Pillsbury, stacked paper in front of both of them. The red-haired doctor sat straight in her chair, uneasy. The interviewer gave the introduction and title before fixing her attention on the child psychiatrist._

"_How is the Berry's daughter?"_

_A picture of the young brunette flashed on screen behind the two women, and Dr. Pillsbury glanced at it. "She's not handling the information well. But that's to be expected. What child can believe her parents are monsters, when they're the ones who have saved her from monsters under the bed each night?"_

_The anchorwoman nodded, pensively. "I can't imagine. It's like hearing about those serial killers who have families and wives who never know about the gruesome double life."_

"_Exactly," the psychiatrist murmured. "They're always seem so normal. And that's what's dangerous. It's their ability to retain composure that makes them real monsters."_

_The other woman shook her head, frowning. "Now for the question everyone has been asking: what will happen to the Berry's daughter?"_

"_I'd like to say she'll be adopted into a nice home," Dr. Pillsbury said, and paused. "But the reality is, no one's heart is big enough to take in a terrorists' daughter. I predict a lot of foster care, bouncing around the system. She will always run from her past."_

Video ending, the screen blackened before the play button returned. Rachel sat, staring blankly at her screen.

It was all worth it. It had to be, right?

* * *

**How're you liking it so far? What do you want to see more of? (Brittanna? Sam? Rachel in action?)**


	6. Secrecy

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**A/N: Thanks for all the kind words & follows!**

_Secrecy_

Everyone has secrets, everyone has things they don't like to talk about.

People never think these things will escape. They are kept locked away in the left ventricle of a heart, chained down on the tip of a tongue, or buried alive inside the right cortex of the brain.

But secrets always have a way of wiggling free, usually at the worst times possible. They hang on a suspended breath, riding out into a minefield of conspiracy, betrayal, and pain, because these things are never good. Why hide something unless there's that faint, nagging voice on your shoulder, whispering about your downfall at the release of the juicy tidbit?

Fists may clench in anxiety, throats might close up at the thought of it getting out, but there's no way to hide a secret.

The good news is everyone has one.

* * *

Several knocks pounded against her bedroom door and halted just as suddenly. Rachel lunged for the gun in her nightstand's drawer and fell, tangled up in the sheets. A groan sounded from the hallway, an odd mix of a whimper and feminine husk. Remembering the blonde, Rachel tucked the gun in the seat of her shorts, accessible if needed.

She reached for the knob and opened the door a crack; upon spying Quinn bent over, one hand clutching her head, she forgot the previous precaution and approached the Fabray, crouching by her side.

"Quinn?"

The blonde muttered in response.

Rachel bit back a smile, realizing the woman was completely, utterly hung over. Instead, choosing to have fun with the situation, she raised her voice. "Is there a reason you were banging on my door at-" she checked her watch, "six in the morning?"

Quinn reached out and sloppily smacked her friend to show her appreciation for the noise. "Island. Off."

"I'm sorry, I don't quite understand your fragments," the brunette replied, stifling a laugh when the blonde dropped to her knees and let out another groan. Unable to hold out any longer, Rachel chuckled and reached out to rub circles into Quinn's shoulders. The blonde leaned into her, letting out a sigh. After a moment, Rachel spoke softly, pulling away. "How about I make you coffee first, while you go take the aspirins I left by your bed that you missed when you decided it would be a superb idea to give me a heart attack at the crack of dawn."

Seeing Quinn was about to protest, she held up a finger to silence her. "_Then_ we'll take the ferry and do something on the mainland, okay?"

With a small smile, the blonde nodded, winced, then grudgingly got up and retraced her steps to the guest room. Shaking her head in amusement, Rachel returned to her room and threw on a pair of Bermuda shorts and a buttoned shirt, rolling up her sleeves as she closed and stored the laptop that she had left lying on her bed. She surmised she'd fallen asleep watching the videos. Rolling her neck, she reviewed her new agenda.

Quinn was her way into the Fabray unit. That's all that she was and would ever be.

And if the blonde wanted to be adorable and cute and stubborn and ridiculous all at the same time, well, then Rachel could have fun with it as well and throw it all right back at her. She could do this as the best friend or the girlfriend. She hoped for the latter—firstly because it would provide better access to files and information, but also because…well, she had needs, and she'd be lying if she said she wasn't attracted to the independent blonde.

Deciding everything was in order, the brunette slipped her phone and wallet into a back pocket. She bounded down the stairs. Flicking on the coffee maker, she settled on muffins and pulled out the batch she had picked up from the local organic shop. Though life as a vegan would've been much easier if she had actually learned how to cook for herself, she'd grown accustomed to the high prices and judgmental employees.

Quinn's slow, ginger footsteps sounded on the stairs a moment later, probably drawn by the smell of mocha beans. Rolling her eyes at the zombified pace, Rachel placed a blueberry muffin on the kitchen table, along with some fruit salad.

The blonde heaved herself up onto the stool, and crinkled her nose at the fruit, choosing to gulp water from the glass she had carried down with her. After taking a large bite of the pastry, she offered Rachel a smile. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." Rachel plucked a chopped strawberry from Quinn's bowl, figuring the blonde wasn't going to eat it. "Coffee will be done in a second. Feeling better?"

"A bit," Quinn said, plowing through the muffin. "I'm sorry for getting that drunk. It's not something I usually do… ever."

Rachel tilted her head. "So, you mean that's the first time you tossed off your clothes and streaked across the beach, shouting profanities?"

The blonde immediately chocked on her breakfast, eyes widening. "I-what?"

Rachel smirked, nudging Quinn as she reached for another piece of fruit. "Relax, I'm only kidding. You were fine. You mostly slept."

"Mostly?" the blonde quirked an eyebrow.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Rachel asked.

Quinn mulled the evening over while she chewed. A blush blossomed from her neck to her cheeks, and Rachel looked on, curious. The woman shook her head, clearing her throat. "Uhm, I, uh…hiding from Sam."

Rachel laughed. "Yeah, that was a surprise. You should probably call him, by the way. I'm sure there are about twenty messages on your phone."

"Fifty," Quinn corrected, playing with her glass. "Did I do anything else embarrassing?"

The brunette, not missing how the Fabray was glossing over her concerned (albeit clingy) boyfriend, shrugged. "No. We talked until you passed out."

The blonde chewed on her lower lip, gaze narrowing in thought.

Rachel, brushing the crumbs from the counter into the sink, rinsed out her glass and leaned against the counter, capturing Quinn's attention with a bright smile. "Well, I'm going to get a few things in order and then we'll head out when you're ready, okay?"

Quinn nodded, taking another bite out of her muffin, and watched the tiny brunette bustle out of the kitchen.

As Rachel reached the top stair, her phone buzzed. She pulled it out and quickly put in the passcode, drawing up the message from Brittany.

**U have Q, rite?**

The brunette fired off a reply. **Yes.**

As she was packing a bag with overnight items, just in case they decided to stay in a hotel, the phone vibrated again.

**Wht ru doing w/ her?**

Rachel frowned at the text. What was she doing with her? **I'm letting her stay over until she's ready to face her mother again.**

When she set it down the ringtone went off. Seeing it was the tall blonde, she flicked the accept button and pressed the phone to her ear.

"Now isn't a good time, Brittany."

"_Well, you didn't answer my question."_

"I'm pretty sure I did. Check your phone."

"_I didn't mean what you're doing with her at the moment, I meant what's your plan? You never do anything nice unless there's an ulterior motive. So, I'm asking, what's being nice to her get you?"_

Rachel sighed, and checked the hallway before closing her door to answer. "She's my way in. I've got to get to the files and secrets of the Fabray family, so she's my in."

"_You know she's going to get hurt."_

"She's already hurt, Brittany."

"_I mean, worse. She's going to go down with her family. You're going to destroy them all."_

"What's your point?"

There was a pause on the line. _"I know you like to be all big and bad and act like none of this is personal because your heart has already been ripped out, but your father and I did talk about more than the company. I know you and Quinn were close as kids-"_

"Yeah, well, that was then." Rachel tapped her hand against her thigh. "Everything has changed now."

"_It's not too late to-"_

"No, it is," she said, looking down. "It's been too late for a while now." She cleared her throat. "Uhm, look, I'm glad you called. I need a favor."

"_A revenge favor?"_

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Yes, Brittany. Can you help?"

"_I can't promise I'll like it, but I'll do it."_

"Great. Mrs. Fabray invited me over in two days, and I want to bug the house. Can you get me small cameras and tapes and set up the feeds?"

"_Oh, this one actually sounds fun. It's all spy-y and fly on the wall."_

Rachel chuckled. "So you'll do it?"

"_Yeah, I'll do it today and drop it off tomorrow."_

"Prefect, thanks."

"_R?"_

The brunette paused. "What?"

"_Just, think before you destroy, okay?"_

She bit the inside of her cheek at the soft voice on the line, willing herself to stay steeled. A quick nod later, she hung up the phone and dropped two toothbrushes into the bag, before throwing over her shoulder and heading downstairs.

* * *

"Where are we going?" Quinn said, sinking into one of the ferry seats by the window. She turned her head to gaze out over the white crests that speckled the sea. It was a pretty calm day, and the ship barely swayed.

"Where do you want to go?" Rachel countered, settling into the seat across from her. She crossed her arms and rested them on the table.

Quinn was quiet for a moment. She rubbed her forehead, then stretched. "Anywhere my parents won't find me."

Rachel frowned. "You still haven't returned their calls?"

The blonde shrugged. "Why should I? It'll be like I never existed. My mother will get her wish."

"What about your father?"

"He's never really been a family man," Quinn replied, quietly.

"Sam's worried, too," Rachel pointed out, changing the subject.

"Look," the blonde said, and fixed her gaze on her. "I just need time to think, to get away. Are you with me, or should I just buy you a ticket home?"

Rachel held her stare for a beat. Sighing, she glanced out the window. "Where wouldn't your parents look for you?"

She didn't miss the soft smile that crossed the blonde's face before she spoke. "Well, they have a lot of friends in Hyannisport, so we should stay clear of that area. And everyone has summer homes in Falmouth." She paused to think.

A mischievous grin spread across the brunette's features as a thought struck her. "What about Provincetown?"

* * *

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Quinn grumbled from behind her. "We could have spent the rest of the day at Marconi!"

Rachel, ignoring the complaints, only pushed her way further into the crowd until they reached the bar, and pulled herself onto an empty stool. They'd left the ferry in Hyannis harbor, taking Rachel's motorcycle up the Cape highway to Chatham, where they had lunch, and continued up to Wellfleet to spend the afternoon at Marconi Beach. Though the shore was littered with tourists, it seemed private. The great sand cliffs were at their backs, larger than the standard dunes. In front of them, the Atlantic had been flat, barely rolling with waves, which had lapped at the shoreline endlessly. It was the white noise needed after a period of emotional ruckus.

It was secrecy in plain sight. She had wished they could've stayed longer in their comfortable silence as well, but knew they'd be kicked off the public beach soon enough, and it was probably better to beat the tide of people that would exit with them.

She glanced back at Quinn, who stood at the edge of the dancing crowd, and rolled her eyes at the stubbornness. Patting the stool beside her, she turned her attention to the barkeeper, who was assisting a couple a few seats away.

A second had barely passed before she heard a low huff next to her, alerting her to the fact that Quinn had joined her.

"We couldn't have spent the evening at Marconi," Rachel finally replied. Quinn's brow furrowed, but before she could protest, the brunette continued. "It was getting cold and we had no food. Besides, you said you wanted to do a little bit of shopping, and we did. Now I'm hungry, you're hungry, and this bar is the last place anyone would look for you." Rachel glanced over at the pouting blonde and smiled, nudging her. "_Plus_, there's dancing."

The blonde snorted. "You say that like it makes everything okay."

"It _does_ make everything better."

"I hate dancing."

"Maybe you've been dancing with the wrong partners."

Quinn looked over at the brunette in surprise at the quick remark. Rachel held her questioning gaze, only shrugging slightly in return. It was true, her previous boyfriends either had two left feet or preferred a crude kind of grinding and paw-grabbing; even Sam didn't understand that dancing took two and was more than just ripping off a shirt and jiggling abs.

But before she could put her thoughts into words or question just what her friend had intended by saying that, the bartender wiped the counter in front of them. "What can I getcha, gals?"

While Quinn struggled with tearing her eyes from their stare, Rachel flitted her gaze away with ease. "I'll have a Caesar salad with a Corona, please."

"Want a lime with it?"

"Yes, thank you."

They both turned to Quinn, expectantly.

She blinked, trying to jumpstart her synapses into gear. "I'll, uhm, have the same. But with a sangria, please."

"Any particular sangria in mind?"

"Surprise me," she said, with a light shrug.

He nodded and yelled out the food orders to the chef, leaving to fix their drinks.

"A sangria?" Rachel asked, raising an eyebrow. "There's no one here to impress, Quinn."

"I'm not trying to," Quinn said, furrowing her brow. "It's what I like."

Rachel bit her lip in thought, noting how the blonde's eyes followed the small movement. She smirked. "It's what you grew up on." At Quinn's confused gaze, she laughed lightly, leaning in like she was about to reveal a desperate secret. "Color outside the lines, Quinn."

Their drinks were set in front of them, a tab set under Rachel's name. Quinn took a sip of hers hesitantly, rolling the brunette's words around in her mind. It was true, she rarely ventured outside the boundaries she'd grown up in, but it was comfortable. They were there for a reason, whether it was for protection, safety, success…or whatever else. She trusted her parents.

Well, trusted. After the tea-party, she didn't know what to think. She thought she had been able to read people well enough—the practice had become an art living with her family members, who showed less emotion than a tortoise in a shell. She was good at picking up on little gestures, little twitches of an eye or the flick of a wrist. She was also good at hiding emotions, knowing what movement, what sigh might give away her cover.

So it was frustrating to have someone read her so plainly, as if she were—as cliché as it was—an open book. Rachel's dark eyes weren't even always on her, but when they were, she could tell that they just _knew_. Sometimes she wondered if she should just give up the act. And she had. In little moments, she had set the mask aside—and, in those little moments, Rachel's eyes didn't feel so probing. Instead, they roamed. They tickled. They skimmed. Because there was no reason for them to go deeper.

Though these times felt the most comfortable, it was still an effort. Rachel was right—she rarely stepped outside the lines her parents had drawn for her. They were neat. They were perfect; they were her way of life.

And it was going to take her a while to change.

She glanced over at the brunette as their food was placed in front of them, wondering if she'd still be around in time to see it.

Rachel, feeling eyes on her, looked up from her salad and into hazel. She'd only seen this particular shade of it once before, and it was the last one in her memories.

"_When will she be back?" Quinn asked, barely noticing the wiggling puppy placed in her arms. She looked between her parents, searching for an answer._

_Young Rachel, hearing the question, pressed against the wall and peeked out the window. She tugged her bag higher up on her shoulder, lingering. She knew as soon as she stepped outside, she'd have to say goodbye to, well, everything._

_Russell's jaw tightened. His wife, ever dutiful, ran her hand through the young blonde's curls, attempting to soothe her. "We don't know yet, honey."_

"_But you said she's sick," the daughter protested, her voice strained. "She can stay with us. She shouldn't have no one."_

"_Quinn-"_

"_I'll make her soup!"_

"_She needs a hospital, dear," Judy said, glancing over to her husband for help. He walked away._

_The little brunette, taking one last deep breath, left the house. Her friend spotted her almost immediately, and, tucking the puppy under her arm, ran towards her. "Babs, wait!"_

_Though she wished she could continue walking, to not have to go through the finalities of a goodbye, she knew she had to. There was no saying she'd ever come back. She didn't even know where she'd be tomorrow. _

_Instead, she turned around and scratched Arnstein just above his ear. The puppy's long leg jiggled in pleasure, but he still let out a light whine, sensing the tense atmosphere around them._

"_You don't look sick," the blonde commented._

_She shrugged. "I don't feel sick."_

"_Then stay," Quinn pleaded._

_Barbara sighed, looking down at her feet. After a moment, she met the blonde's gaze. "Take care of Arnie, okay?"_

"_Barbara," the blonde whispered._

_The other girl took a few steps backwards uncertainly. Before she could move any further away, Quinn rushed forward to close the growing distance between them with an embrace, the German Shepherd puppy sloppily placing kisses on both of them._

_When a social worker forced them apart, Barbara promised herself she wouldn't look back._

_But she did._

_And that's when the hazel eyes, usually a balanced speckle of green and yellow, shifted to a shade of brilliant, shimmering gold._

A woman, slipping between the two to wave down the bartender, broke their musings. Rachel, slightly shaken by the intense memory coupled with _the stare_, took the moment to compose herself. No longer very hungry, she looked down at the greens but still saw gold.

Quinn, startled by the shattering return to reality, loosened her grip on her fork, and it clattered to the floor. She muttered an apology to the woman who had interrupted them, and was about to pick it up when the woman—a redhead, she noted—bent over to retrieve it for her.

The blonde held her hand out, expecting the fork, but the woman only shook her head and smiled. She called out to the bartender, "Hey, Rick, can I get a fork with a rum'n'coke?"

"Gotcha," he shouted over his shoulder, already arm-deep with drink orders.

The woman leaned against the counter, turning to face Quinn. The blonde immediately grew nervous, shifting in her seat. She couldn't see Rachel, now that the lady had blocked her. Had the stare affected her the same way? Or was she losing her control, her mind?

"I didn't mean to scare you," the woman said slowly, drawing Quinn's attention back to her. She had a light layer of freckles and a pair of hipster glasses.

Quinn shrugged. "It's okay, I just wasn't expecting it."

"I'm Anna," the woman replied with a smile, holding out a hand.

The blonde gave her a distracted smile. "Quinn."

Rick, the barkeeper, handed Anna her drink and fork, before bustling away.

She thanked him and handed Quinn the fork, before taking a few steps back.

"Thanks," the blonde said, placing the silverware into the lettuce. She glanced at the brunette, who was focused intently on her meal.

"No problem," Anna said, hovering for a moment. "Say, do you want to dance?"

The question brought both Rachel and Quinn's heads upright in surprise. The brunette, curious to see how the situation would pan out, leaned on the counter with an elbow, smirking slightly.

Quinn fidgeted. "Oh, uhm. I don't… I can't."

"Why not?" the redhead prompted. "I can teach you, Quinn."

The blonde almost blanched at the way her name fell from Anna's mouth. It sounded much better popping off the brunette's tongue.

_Wait, what?_

"So?"

Quinn bit her lip. "I'm really okay…"

Anna took a step closer. "What's stopping you?"

"Uh, well. You see," Quinn began, looking to Rachel for help. She was out of the nice, clean lines her parents had drawn up for her. She was in new territory, and she had no idea how to navigate it.

But, when Rachel slid her arms around her waist, the blonde felt as if a life-line had been thrown to her. She couldn't hear the brunette's chuckles until the woman was pressed against her, trying and failing to stifle them.

"You see, Anna. Quinn would love to dance with you, but, Quinn and I…" she nodded for the blonde to finish.

"We're, uh, best friends," she said, and glanced back at Rachel, who frowned at her answer. Quinn, catching on, tried to correct the situation. "Like, more than best friends."

Anna's brow furrowed.

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Like, LLBFFs."

"We're L-Biffs," Quinn repeated, placing her arms over Rachel's and smiling.

"Yes," Rachel said slowly, watching poor Anna's gaze try to follow their rambling. "We're…life long, best friends…forever."

"Oh." Anna frowned. "That's…too bad."

"Yeah," Quinn replied.

When she left, Rachel dropped her arms from Quinn's hips and pulled the stool closer, hopping onto it. "She's going to go tell everyone we're freaks, now."

Quinn chuckled. "Maybe it'll save us from being asked out again."

"Hey, speak for yourself," Rachel muttered, and took a bite of her salad. "How's the sangria?"

The blonde, not fully comprehending the first remark, scowled and stabbed her own salad. "It's refreshing, thanks. Just as good as I remember it."

"That's because you had one only two days ago," Rachel teased, watching the other woman get riled up from the banter.

"_Because_ I love them. Why go through life trying new things when you already know what you like?"

"Because you might find _more_." The words came out easily, and Rachel wasn't entirely sure how she had even found them. That particular conversation hadn't been in her mind, but she could now see it had been dancing in the back of her mind all night.

Quinn narrowed her eyes. It hadn't been just her. Rachel _had_ been hinting at a bigger meaning, something… well, something more. She could remember the conversation, although it was a bit hazy from the wine.

"I, uh. I'm going to go to the bathroom," Quinn said, standing. Rachel nodded, pushing her bowl away and watching the blonde go. She'd pushed too far, she knew it.

She looked over the swaying crowd, finally realizing just how loud the music was. The lights had dimmed, too, as the evening had turned into night. She wanted so badly to go into the crowd, pick a random woman and dance the night away, perhaps even into the morning with a different kind of tango.

But she couldn't leave the blonde behind. She was her responsibility—it had been her idea to go to a gay bar, so far from the home Quinn knew.

She finished off her drink and ordered a second one, immediately draining half of it. When the blonde returned from the bathroom, more composed, she gave her a slight smile and apologized.

Quinn sipped on her sangria before nodding. "It's okay."

* * *

Rachel felt her phone buzz in her back pocket, but ignored it for the sake of walking.

Correction: stumbling.

They had abandoned the bar at last call, sufficiently more drunk than when they had started their meal. Perhaps it had been the sobering, awkward moment of connection, but neither made a move to stop the other from ordering drink after drink.

And now, they were fumbling their way down Race Point. The brunette wasn't sure what time it was, but the moon was far up in the sky, which meant it had to be pretty late, since it was summer. Plus, her phone had been going off for some time now.

But, she opted for the present company. The blonde was as giggly as she was, grinning brightly at every word that was said between them.

Besides, she only ever got calls on her cell that were related to her…business. And she wasn't exactly in the right state to make those kinds of decisions.

Quinn tripped on a clump of sand, grabbing Rachel's hand to catch herself from falling. It worked, and she leaned further against her friend as she laughed at the close call.

The brunette snorted. "Y-you almost-" she let out a guffaw, "face-planted!"

"Shhut up," Quinn slurred, giving the brunette a light shove.

"Aw, did I-I…offend you?" Rachel asked between gasps of giggles.

The blonde tried to keep a straight face, in vain. She looked away, hoping Rachel wouldn't see the grin on her face. Rachel took a few steps and stopped at her side, looking up at the navy sky.

"It's al-almost a full moon," she commented, mouth dropping slightly open. The stars were winking all around them; living in the city left much of the sky dimmed. Here, in a small town on the ocean with no artificial light, it was breathtaking.

"It looks like," Quinn began, pausing. "God sneezed sparkles all over."

Rachel glanced at the blonde, eyebrows raising. She nodded frantically, as if Quinn had discovered the meaning of life. Then Quinn started chuckling, which made Rachel giggle, which sent them both into fits of laughter.

Far-off, in the parking lot a little ways behind them, a car sped through, blasting the radio. Quinn, recognizing the tune, hummed along, continuing the beat even after the song had faded away.

Rachel watched as Quinn dropped her gaze from the sky to the flat ocean, where the brilliant stars reflected against the surface. The moon overhead caught in her blonde hair, shimmering as she smiled softly.

Before she could comprehend what she was saying, the words were spilling off her tongue. "Dance with me."

Surprised, Quinn glanced in the brunette's direction. Though Rachel looked shocked at her own request—well, demand, really—she quickly dropped to a bow, extending a hand with a grin.

The blonde, mind flashing back to Rachel's earlier statement briefly, hesitated. It wasn't long before she felt her hand slide into the brunette's, and the song from the car return, though this time from Rachel's lips.

She smiled, and returned to humming as Rachel's other hand lightly grasped her hip. They swayed—probably more from the alcohol than from intentional dancing—in very high school fashion, with enough room between them for Mary, Joseph, and the whole Holy Trinity.

But as soon as Rachel opened her mouth, Quinn was struck again by the beautiful notes pouring out of it, even at the pop-song. _"It's like you're always there in the corners of my mind, I see a silhouette every time I close my eyes. There must be poison in those finger tips of yours, 'cause I keep comin' back again for more…"_

"_Oh oh oh..." _Quinn joined in, the corner of her mouth uplifting into a smile.

The brunette grinned back at her._"Trouble troublemaker, yeah, that's your middle name,"_ Rachel continued, swinging Quinn out and tugging her back in.

"_Oh oh oh..."_

She let her hand slip lower on Quinn's waist, sliding back towards the small of her back. Quinn instinctively drew closer. _"I know you're no good but you're stuck in my brain, and I wanna know—why does it feel so good but hurt so bad?"_

"_Whoa oh oh..."_ Quinn shivered as Rachel intertwined their fingers from the friendly hold it had been in.

"_My mind keeps saying run as fast as you can. I say I'm done but then you pull me back." _The brunette smirked, letting the blonde spin her away, only to circle back around and resume their own dance.

"_Whoa oh oh..."_

Rachel took the last step, closing the last bit of distance between them as their bodies melded together. _"I swear you're giving me a heart attack."_

"_Troublemaker…" _They both breathed out, noses brushing. They'd stopped twirling around, but the world around them spun. A faint, nagging voice in Rachel's head reminded her that they shouldn't be this close, that it'd lead to complications. But they were both drunk. And if she let Quinn make the first move, then it would be okay, wouldn't it?

The blonde trailed her fingers up Rachel's arm, eyes dragging across its wake, where goose-bumps had raised. She smiled shyly, eyes meeting the brunette's again.

The look startled Rachel, bringing her back from the drunken haze. She cleared her throat, taking the slightest step away, and dropping her arm from where it had wrapped around the blonde's waist. She kept their hands linked, feeling guilty when Quinn's brow crinkled in confusion.

She told herself it was for the sake of the mission. That the less she was involved with Quinn, the less she'd hurt her. It was saving collateral damage. Plus, Brittany (yes, Brittany!) had told her to be more careful of people's hearts, particularly those who hadn't done anything except be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

And that list only contained one name. Which happened to be Quinn.

And that wasn't a coincidence at all.

Because there was no way that the blonde scared her. No, of course not.

That would just be ridiculous.

* * *

**A/N: So, who caught the **_**Rizzoli & Isles**_** reference? (:**

**The song in the beach dance scene was Olly Murs's "Troublemaker."**

**Up Next: More flashbacks, spy stuff, and bugs (the good, non-insect kind).**


End file.
